


Old Habits

by tangymustard (zestymayonaisse)



Series: Valkyria Chronicles: Crows of Schwartzgrad [2]
Category: Senjou no Valkyria | Valkyria Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depictions of war casualties and murder and stuff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Now Canon-Atypical Violence!, Tags may be added as needed, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19795963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zestymayonaisse/pseuds/tangymustard
Summary: As tensions rise in the North, Nikola and Chaira find themselves facing their first real mission under the direction of Commissar Ludwig: suppressing a growing civil war, a consequence of X-0's sudden withdrawl from the region. Struggling with their past, they also find themselves once again at each other's throat. Meanwhile, Lord Commissar York's plan to save his beloved country is put on hold as he's invited to a garden party hosted by the Empress. Unbeknownst to all, a familiar face and a new enemy make a tenuous alliance which could further hinder the Commissariat's plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! Thanks to everyone who read part 1. You may notice some small style changes between then and now, and that's because a lot more recent edits went into part 2 than before (we will go back and rewrite/add to parts of Weltschmertz later, so we'll keep you updated on that). This is also when more liberties with lore will be taken; for the most part, assume the war with Gallia has progressed to the point of Gregor's death, but otherwise is ongoing. Another detail to keep in mind: in this story, the Empire has more in common with Tsarist Russia and its shortcomings rather than Nazi Germany. Specifically, the Nord Republic is less an occupied Norway and more like Finland when it was a client state.
> 
> (Cover art by @splatsune on tumblr)

\--April 1923--

Heinrich stood on the balcony, looking up at the vast starry night sky. The sight of so many twinkling planets filled the scientist with a powerful sense of wonder; he wished his long time partner Albert could have been alive to see such a sight with him. Heinrich was younger then, with his shoulder length, slicked-back black hair only having a few streaks of gray. While his eyesight was already starting to go, he could still see the beautiful white moon as clear as day.

The sound of footsteps on the stone balcony alerted him to another’s presence, but he already knew who it was. “Isn’t the moon just breathtaking tonight, Montgomery?” His large gray eyes looked softly upon his friend with a gentle admiration.

The newly promoted Lord Commissar of Schwartzgrad was carrying two glasses of red wine, imported, of course, from Zwolle. Younger as well, Montgomery had no need for a cane, and his face still had a youthful quality that made him seem softer then the hardened pessimist he would later become. He walked over to his friend and handed one of the glasses over. Heinrich offered his thanks and took it. Montgomery leaned against the balcony. “Indeed. The majesty of the cosmos truly is humbling,” he replied thoughtfully.

Heinrich hummed and brought the wine to his lips. In the light of the moon, one of the men stood in a pristine white uniform, the other adorned in a deep black; together they had taken on the stagnant autocracy of the Empire and carved out places for themselves. It was an alliance of outsiders, of men who had left their homelands behind for their own ends.

The wine was softer then the normal products housed in Montgomery’s cellars, and Belgar found it warming as it settled in his stomach. Looking over at Montgomery, the scientist tipped his own glass toward his friend. “A congratulation is an order for your promotion, esteemed Lord Commissar.”

“Ah-” Montgomery held out his glass. “It would have been impossible without the Science Board’s support.” The two glasses clinked together softly. “Your letter and kind words did much to sway his majesty.” The vial of poison in the previous Lord Commissar’s glass also helped considerably, but that fact remained unsaid.

“I am glad. No one is better suited for the position,” Belgar said, taking another drink. He gazed into the shimmering red wine, which glowed in the light of the lanterns that illuminated the scene around them. “I am surprised though,” he continued, causing Montgomery to glance over. “I was certain you would have accepted the barony in the West.”

“Oh, come now, Heinrich. I have no desire for such frivolities.” Montgomery smiled. “How can I possibly serve the Imperial Alliance if I am distracted by my class?” He took a drink of the wine and watched his companion’s face.

Heinrich’s brow furrowed slightly, but otherwise his demeanor remained warm. He couldn’t comprehend the lack of drive for recognition, but he had accepted Montgomery’s unorthodox want to stay in the shadows of history. “Suit yourself. Although, one cannot deny a title would give your name some weight.”

Montgomery couldn’t help but laugh as he put a hand on Heinrich’s shoulder. “Let those arrogant fools resent me. Soon enough they will regret their condemnation.” Keeping his hand in place he changed the topic. “Enough about myself. I heard the Emperor has given you permission to begin trials with the valkyria.”

Heinrich nodded and turned to face Montgomery, whose hand rested once more against the balcony, close to his own. “Between you and me, I hold little hope for most of the girls with potential.” His eyes harbored a dark intent. “Even if my adjustments are thorough, only a few of them are going to be resilient enough to survive the initial tests.”

“Do not let it discourage you,” Montgomery said, trying to be reassuring. “The path of discovery is hardly a clean one.”

“Well said. Too few understand that innovation requires more then a couple of broken bones,” Belgar said wistfully as his mind briefly brought up memories of working with Miller. “I am grateful to have finally found someone who can appreciate the sacrifices required to push forward.”

“And there will be many,” Montgomery replied, moving away from the granite railing and walking over to a small glass table at the edge of the balcony. After placing his wine glass down, he opened a small greenish box on the table, removing a finely carved wooden pipe. He methodically checked its contents before placing it in his mouth. Before lighting it, still facing away from Heinrich, Montgomery spoke once more to clarify. “The machines of destruction will soon be on the move again. A lasting peace is impossible as long as those arrogant republics hold fast to their supposed moral superiority.”

  
For a man like Montgomery York, the short peace that broke up the two largest conflicts in Europe’s history was just a pause on the same conflict. In simple terms, he saw the Second European War as nothing short of an extension of the first. Ideological differences between forces were impossible to reconcile; the conflict would not stop until either the Federation or the Empire disappeared from the world.

  
“Is that so? Pity,” Heinrich sighed, turning from the beautiful sky. “I suppose I will have to put my project on hold again.” He walked over and took a seat at the table. He watched quietly as Montgomery pulled out a match, striking it and lighting the pipe in his hand. A sweet aroma, not unlike burning fall leaves, soon drifted over toward the scientist.

After a few puffs, Montgomery looked over. “Ah. Do not worry, Heinrich. I doubt the Federation has the guts to challenge us openly anytime soon.”

Heinrich put a hand on his chin in thought, “That is true... but perhaps I need a war to create the conditions for a proper experiment.” Ragnite implosion was still entirely theoretical, and it was no help that the Empire’s focus was mostly focused on creating Valkyrian super soldiers.

“Then let us hope for one,” Montgomery said suddenly with a twinkle in his eye. He placed his pipe down and picked up the wine glass again. “To another brutal European conflict. One whose fire reaches every corner of this Earth and ends with the total destruction of all our enemies.” He paused, his lips quirking into a smile. “So my dear friend here can finally have a sufficient testing ground for all his research.”

Such passion was intoxicating. Heinrich found himself returning the good mood. He lifted his glass, meeting Montgomery’s own, and said, “And so you, Dear Monty, can secure the Empire's place in the annals of history.”

That night was the last time the two men spoke as friends. A few short years, and they would see each other as bitter rivals.

\--2 April 1936--

Montgomery sifted through the various reports that scattered his desk. The absence of his right-hand man had forced the Lord Commissar to work overtime every evening to ensure his organization remained on top of the ever-increasing unstable situation the Empire was now facing. It was maddening, for someone whose business was information, to hear nobles and generals alike speak confidently as though the war would be won soon enough.

However, the most recent reports coming from the front painted a different picture. The morale of many soldiers were bleak at best, as no country, not even the greatest military power on the continent, could fight a war forever. The initial blitzkrieg that won the Empire so many early victories against the Federation had completely halted the moment it ran into a spirited defense a few miles outside Montigny. Suddenly, the Second European War had become a war of attrition, just as the first one had, with neither side able to make meaningful gains.

With an immobile front, the Empire was facing ruin from within as well. The conscripts were weary of war and starting to becoming increasingly belligerent with their commanders. Mutinies in the Imperial Navy, while sporadic, were becoming worryingly more common. The fact also remained that the loss of many talented scientists within the Imperial Science Board now left their weapons development severely stunted.

Other reports relating to the situation at home were far more pessimistic. The usage of X-0’s valkyria in the North had destabilized the weather patterns across the country, which had ultimately resulted in a far lower harvest than they could handle. Feeding an army as massive as the Empire’s was already a costly endevour, and less grain to go around meant sacrifices had to be made. Since stricter rationing had been implimented, the vast peasantry within the country were becoming increasingly unruly in response. The final cause for alarm was the growing action of an organized cadre of Darcsen terrorists, referring to themselves as the Fifth Column. The terrorists had successfully managed two separate raids on Imperial prison camps, which lost the Empire several hundered workers that had been freed in each attack. The Lord Commissar was frustratingly aware of their tenacity, as he'd spent much of his early career attempting to suppress them, though to no avail.

Montgomery was no short-sighted man. He could see the writing on the wall clearly: the war he had been so quick and passionate to endorse was strangling his beloved country. With that in mind, he had instructed his personal dentist to place a cyanide capsule underneath one of his fake teeth to ensure that, if any enemy should succeed, he would never answer for his crimes.

  
The Lord Commissar reached out and picked up a steaming cup of black tea. The beverage was the only vestige of his homeland he kept around the office. Briefly he thought back to his impressement into the Imperial Navy. Just as skipping a stone creates ripples, the sudden change in employment had forever altered Montgomery’s life—a rebirth of sorts that caused him to shed away everything from his old life and fully embrace the Empire with open arms. Such a dramatic transformation was motivated entirely by his unshakable belief in autocracy, and the absolute right to rule, which was something his homeland of Edinburgh had turned its back on.

The idea of such a committed foreigner attracted the attention of the original Lord Commissar of Schwartzgrad, a bookish man who was a staunch legalist, who offered Montgomery a position within in the fledgling organization. It was a decision the first Lord Commissar undoubtedly came to regret; he quickly found that Montgomery’s extremism could not be brought in line. Soon enough, the first Lord Commissar was found dead with bulging eyes, grasping at his throat. On his desk, a signed confession of treason.

Montgomery returned his attention to the report in front of him. It was an update from his dear friend Karl. Montgomery opened it, allowing a smile to come to his haggard face. The way the oftentimes reserved Karl wrote about Nikola and Chiara was not unlike to a proud father detailing the accomplishments of his children. Commissars, for the most part, did not have families, as it was dangerous business to form attachments to world. Montgomery, though, was willing to forgive his right-hand for projecting a pointless fantasy onto the two girls.

The report detailed that Nikola and Chiara had successful taken control of the unit with little bloodshed and had spent the first three weeks prepping for the operation with intense training drills. The actualities of command are never quite simple, however, and it seemed both girls struggled to leave old habits from X-0 behind. On two specific occasions, Karl had to intervene to prevent Chiara from beating a man to death. He had reprimanded her harshly, pointing out the operation only had finite resources and every man in the unit was handpicked to complete it without fail. Agent Rocino had swore she would have better control of her temper in the future, a fact Karl had underlined after typing the report indicating he would keep tabs on it.

Montgomery hummed as he read the report. He always appreciated Karl’s efficiency. Nothing would be wasted with his second in command handling the situation. On the other hand, it seemed Nikola had trouble integrating herself with the men, preferring to isolate herself. Even with her exceptional talent, Karl had to have a lengthy talk with the stoic girl to get her more involved with the unit.

Together though both girls displayed the confidence required of command, and when they weren’t trying to kill each other, they both were effective leaders. Karl concluded by noting that in the last few days as the start of the operation drew close, both Nikola and Chiara seemed to be trying their hardest to not only leave behind their more negative habits, but also to motivate their men through more than fear. Finally, it seemed they were accepting the whole unit was in it it together.

  
Montgomery shut the folder, his spirit slightly lifted. It was good to know at least one of his gambits had paid off so far. His second’s paternal approach to organizing was unorthodox and certainly at odds with the Lord Commissar’s own approach to command, which required meticulous micromanagement of nearly every aspect of a subordinate’s orders. However, Montgomery had complete faith in Karl’s ability to complete a mission and was convinced Operation Assam was in capable hands.

Normally, the Lord Commissar valued the lives of his subordinates greatly, a trait that often was at odds with the nature of his job. However, Nikola and Chiara were forever marked in his eyes with one distasteful trait he found difficult to look past: the fact they were both members of the now expunged division X-0 and the personal project of his old rival Heinrich Belgar. Few men aside from the good doctor could illicit Montgomery to fly into impassioned rants. However, after the disaster at Schwartzgrad Belgar had disappeared without a trace, leading Commissar Ulyana to make the proposal that defection was entirely possible. The thought had filled Montgomery such an intense paranoia that he had devoted huge amounts of resources tracking down his nemesis by any means.

The damaged Orcinus Magnus was searched nearly five times; not a single room was left untouched. Belgar’s personal quarters and office were completely torn apart, books were burned and items of possible significance were confiscated. Nikola and Chiara, as such, were of such significance that, despite being tainted by his rival, Montgomery could not waste their potential. Later, the massive submarine was gifted to Commissar Manfred to assist the man with tracking down an artifact of myth. He knew, having previously worked with Belgar, that the man had been searching for such an artifact for years; after their falling out, though, Montgomery knew he would have to find it first. As the research papers they found had suggested, it seemed that Belgar had yet to find all the pieces of the puzzle.

With the rest of the remnants of X-0 wiped clean from history, Montgomery should have felt at ease, having completely cleaned up the mess left after Schwartzgrad. However, the paranoid man could not rest easily, as his mind constantly brought him back to the ruins of Seigval. The rest of the military leadership had chalked up the loss to a severe underestimating the fighting ability of the Federation’s rangers. Montgomery, however, had stared long and hard at the remains of the once-mighty defensive wall and could only see the shadows of conspiracy. How else could he view such an egregious loss? All sorts of nebulous forces threatened to plunge a jagged dagger into the exposed back of the Empire: Vinnish Infiltrators, refusniks, feuding nobility, and, in particular, the blinding incompetence of military commanders.

Knowing he only had full authority over his own organization, Montgomery did the most logical thing in his mind: he purged the entirety of the Commissariat of all possible non-loyal elements. It was a drastic decision which left the whole office paralyzed, unable to act for almost the entire duration of the Federation’s Operation Cygnus. Only the month before Nikola and Chiara were recruited did the Commissariat return to full operational strength; even so, Karl had restrained the Lord Commissar’s desire to conduct another culling of the lower ranks.

Such uncertainty did little to secure Nikola and Chiara’s own new lease on life. Despite being free of X-0 and Belgar’s reach, both girls were still viewed as nothing more than expendable weapons. While Karl had protested in defense of their lives, Montgomery considered such an idea dangerous—it would mean leaving potentially loyal soldiers of his rival alive. He had decided then, simply intending to have both shot once Operation Assam was concluded as a way of securing his own safety.

Taking another sip of tea, Montgomery returned to processing execution orders. The man found the tedious work relaxing and took great care in reading each case. Occasionally he would find an order he refused to fulfill and would commute the sentence. Communed sentences were marked with a blue x across the top page and served as a reminder for the Lord Commissar of what new men to recruit. Always the savior from on high, Montgomery liked to extend a second chance to those he felt were deserving of mercy, and in most cases it resulted in devoted followers.

Men to be executed, on the other hand, were stamped with red ink in the shape of his own personal seal. Executions were carried out almost immediately in the basement of the prison below his office. Bodies were then cremated and buried in a field outside the capital.

A single knock on the door caused him to look up. “Enter,” he announced, curious of who could be disturbing him. He opened his left drawer which housed his sidearm. Montgomery had long ago learned the consequences of trust.

  
To his relief, the person who entered was Commissar Ulyana von Wolzogen, a woman of noble birth who carried herself with the confidence expected of her class. Montgomery had expressed doubts about employing a member of the fairer sex at first, but Ulyana had easily proved she was more then capable of handling the rigors of the job.

Similar to Karl, the woman was relatively unremarkable in appearance, which allowed her to easily fly under the radar. With dark brown eyes and matching straight, brown shoulder-length hair, combined with facial features common to the Empire, Ulyana could easily be mistaken for a commoner. To establish her own femininity, she had altered the traditional Commissar uniform to accommodate a skirt and regularly left her hat resting on her desk.

“Ulyana. What do you have for me?” he asked her, pushing up his glasses. Montgomery had come to respect the former noblewoman greatly, and in many ways she complimented Karl’s role as his right hand, managing internal affairs within the vast organization.

“A report from Commissar Kamal of the Eastern Commissariat,” she replied, walking over and dropping a folder on his desk. Her heels made an obnoxious tapping noise that caused the Montgomery’s eye to twitch.

“Bad news, I assume,” Montgomery said cynically, flipping through the report. Each region of the Empire was under the jurisdiction of a different Commissariat, which at one point had the ability to act independently. However, Montgomery’s reforms had centralized all of the offices around his own, and no action could be carried out without his approval. Some within the organization believed the reforms had actually served to hinder the Commissariat’s ability to carry out its duties.

As such, even though Commissar Kamal was a more the capable man, he was oftentimes powerless to respond to the fires raging in his region. He had to wait until Montgomery provided appropriate direction, which could take a few days.

“It always is. Scouts from the Far Eastern Empire are starting to probe our undermanned border,” Ulyana stated clearly. Montgomery sighed loudly and stood up. He limped over to his window and looked out at the military districts plaza. Not many people were moving around; aside from a few soldiers, overall the plaza was quiet.

Leaning heavily on his cane, Montgomery said, “It’s logical. Our military cannot sustain a war on two fronts.” He tapped the silver bird on the hilt of his cane methodically. “Tell Kamal we must prepare for the worst. I am issuing order forty-four in regards to his commissariat.”

Taking advantage of the aftermath of Schwartzgrad, Montgomery had once again expanded his office’s authority, citing the recent military failure. Order forty-four allowed Commissars to form volkssturm to act in defense of strategic locations. It was a gross overstepping of the organization’s authority, but once again when challenged, Karl pushed back by saying such an extreme measure wouldn’t be necessary if the military could be trusted to defend the Empire’s borders.

“He should be prepared to burn everything to the ground. Let them occupy smoldering ruins and nothing more,” Montgomery said authoritatively, making a note to consult Karl on beginning Plan Z as soon as possible.

“It will be done,” Ulyana said, making a note on the paper in her hand. Personally, she had come to respect Montgomery as more than simply a savior who had allowed her to escape a life of arranged political marriages. The Lord Commissar’s sole devotion to the service of the state was admirable, even if it had instilled him with a powerful pessimism, as many did not share his commitment.

Ulyana stifled a laugh, maintaining her composure. “You are starting to sound like a defeatist, Lord Commissar.”

“Am I? We marched off, confident that we would conquer the whole continent in less than a year. Now look at where we are—only a few hundred miles outside our own borders, and what do we do instead of reinforcing our positions? We foolishly tie up our best troops invading our neighbor,” he said dryly. Saying it out loud only served to reinforce his belief in a nebulous force working in the background.

While Montgomery had endorsed war with the Federation, he had spoken out against with zealous rage at the invasion of Gallia. While Montgomery despised the Gallian people, he couldn’t deny the homogeneous country had cultivated a civic nationalism that put the multicultural Empire to shame; such nationalism would make prolonged occupation impossible.

The invasion had highlighted shortcomings within the Eastern European Imperial Alliance. Despite being the first nation on the continent to have an industrial revolution, its feudal structure had stunted its ability to modernize. Many factories still lacked proper assembly lines, meaning it took far longer to produce runs of almost every form of equipment. Having the largest manpower pool on the continent meant nothing if the army was unable to be fully equipped. Trying to maintain multiple invasions had stretched supplies to well beyond the maximum limit; something would have to give eventually.

“But surely the valkyria can aid our war effort?” Ulyana asked with a hint of sarcasm. Personally, she had her own reservations about the wonder weapons. Having read the reports confiscated from the Imperial Science Board, she had come to the conclusion, like most of the inner circle, that such weapons would do little to change the course of the war—especially if the external reports from agents within Vinland were true. The conclusion they’d drawn was that the democracy’s arsenal far out weighed the Empire’s own.

Montgomery couldn’t help but smile, picking up on his subordinate’s sarcasm. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked him about the power of the valkyria. The notorious Doctor Belgar and the Lord Commissar had spent many nights debating the usefulness of the powerful beings.

Opting for his traditional answer to the question Montgomery tapped his cane on the ground rhythmically. “Volatile tools do volatile things. I, for one, have no time for legends. They are nothing more than the last dying gasp of a fool unable to see the end.”

Officially, the Commissariat had condemned Prince Maximilian for taking a valkyria to the front, in an internal document. However, just as when warned of the plot to undermine the invasion, Montgomery ordered no action taken to prevent disaster. The Lord Commissar couldn’t accept the bastard prince’s own personal idealism toward reforming the Empire, as it was in conflict with his own desire to radically reorganize society. Elements he could not personally direct were simply vestigial in Montgomery’s eyes. Another dead prince was one more threat to the establishment out of the way.

“Which is why we must act now, yes?” She asked cryptically. Like all members of the inner circle, Ulyana had swore an oath solely to the Lord Commissar above all others and was prepared to do all necessary to see Plan Z through. She had some reservations, but like many found herself completely enraptured by Montgomery’s sheer force of will and vision for the future.

  
“Indeed. Its unfortunate, but our organization stands alone. We are the last true defenders of the Imperial Alliance,” he answered with a distant look in his eyes. Ulyana could hear his exhaustion as well as a twinge of sadness in her boss’s voice and she could tell the admission pained him greatly. It felt as though they were in a country of strangers.

Montgomery turned to face her once more and prompted, “Anything else?”

“Actually, a letter arrived for you. Its from Empress Gothia,” she responded and handed the letter over. It was a white envelope stamped with the royal family’s seal. Montgomery pulled out a letter opener and cut it open.

Frowning to himself, he muttered, “It seems she has invited me to a garden party this evening.” He hated being around gossiping nobles, but earning the favor of the Empress had protected his position, so he was obligated to attend.

Ulyana snickered at his reaction. “That’s too bad. It’s a shame Commissar Ludwig isn’t here to escort you.”

Oblivious to the implication, Montgomery sighed and said, “It is indeed. He is far more adept at soothing fragile egos then I.” Then the Lord Commissar’s pale blue eyes lit up and he looked at Ulyana. “You are of noble birth right?”

“You already know, not anymore,” she answered, annoyed being reminded of her past. She had willingly parted with all claims to the her noble lineage in order to be a Commissar, motivated primarily by the desire to prove that a woman could act in defense of the Empire.

“Good thing, too. You are far too talented to be a housewife,” he said, corner of his mouth quirking into a small smile. Ulyana couldn’t help but stand a little straighter hearing the praise. Montgomery tapped his cane in thought. “Will you be my escort to this evenings party?” he asked flatly. The Empress could be a bit overbearing; he hoped being in the company of a woman would prevent her from asking any embarrassing questions.

“Of course, Lord Commissar. I would be delighted to escort you,” she said, offering a half smirk and small bow. She excused herself and, to Montgomery’s annoyance, another man entered his office as she left. He was a large balding toad of a man, finely robed like most of the nobility, and his double chin suggested he ate well.

“Lord Commissar York! I must speak with you!” the man bellowed. Montgomery looked at the nobleman blankly, unable to place his face. Though, he was more concerned with having run out of tea.

“Who are you?” Montgomery asked with disdain. The man’s eyes seemed to pop out of his skull in rage.

He slammed his fist on the desk and shouted, “Duke Bergmann! Your goons arrested my son for treason!” He banged his fist a few more times on the table for good measure. Montgomery just looked at him, bored and a little disgusted by the man’s outburst.

“My Commissars have arrested a many men’s sons. You will have to be more specific,” Montgomery said, sitting down again. He pulled a stack of folders in front of him. “Several hundred this month alone. What is his name?” The Lord Commissar figured he would humor the enraged toad.

“You should learn to respect your betters,” the Duke snarled, clearly unaware of the power Montgomery’s office held over domestic affairs. That lack of knowledge in particular wasn’t really his fault. Tt was unclear where the power of the nobility folded to the Commissariat. When Montgomery indicated to the folders, the Duke said, “Torben Bergmann.”

Montgomery flipped through the files. They were hopelessly out of order—normally Karl handled execution orders. After a few minutes of half-heartily hoping the nobleman would get bored and leave, Montgomery found the file on Torben Bergmann.

“Your son was accused of sabotaging the war effort by a credible source,” Montgomery informed him. He removed a small piece of paper from the folder and handed it over. “He confessed to being a traitor… Is this not his signature?” A blood stain had obscured the last name, but it matter little as he was shot only a few minutes later.

The Duke looked at the paper and slowly went pale, “You monster. You had no evidence.”

“Actually, a confession of guilt is all the evidence I need.” Montgomery patted the pile of folders. “This is war. No one is free of suspicion.” He cocked his head with cold eyes fixed on the toad’s face. “I suggest you leave.”

Unwilling to heed the Lord Commissar’s warning and motivated by grief, Bergman started to rant and rave, kicking Montgomery’s desk. “You rat! You foreign upstart! I will have your head!” He shouted until he was blue in the face and only finally stopped to catch his breath.

Unbothered, the Lord Commissar had reached into another desk drawer and pulled out a folder on the nobleman himself. Being reminded of his heritage was always sure to irritate the Lord Commissar. Flipping through it dramatically, he said flippantly, “Unfortunate, truthfully. Your family was always held in high regard by his majesty.”

Duke Bergmann’s face suddenly changed. He had dropped his aggressive tone and said, “What are you implying?”

“Guilt is a disease, and your son has already condemned the rest of your family. Now its merely a matter of conducting a thorough investigation,” Montgomery said with an unsettling smile. He continued to peer at the Duke, whose hands started to tremble as it became clear the Lord Commissar’s intent. “I trust you will cooperate to the fullest extent with Commissar Volker when he arrives.”

The Duke hastily exited without a word, and Montgomery found himself alone again. He looked over at the haphazardly organized stack of files on the men currently awaiting their fate. A slightly ajar file caught the Lord Commissar’s attention, and he reached over to tug it out of the haphazard pile. Flipping it open, Montgomery put a hand on his chin.

Klaus Walz was the name on the page. He had been arrested in his hometown along with the valkyria from X-0. The former war hero, now expunged from Imperial history like all those involved with Belgar’s division, was facing a series of charges—not only dereliction of duty and theft of war assets, but also an answer for his failure at Siegval.

Taking a sip of tea, Montgomery wondered what to do with the famous Imperial captain. On one hand, Klaus was clearly talented; on the other, however, he represented the corrosive, self-serving degeneracy which had infected the military leadership.

Not one to hesitate, the Lord Commissar was ready to request a confession of guilt extracted, but he stopped short of stamping the file. Montgomery couldn’t deny his office was in need of capable soldiers, and Klaus still had something to lose. There was always something exploitable to serve as leverage to keep unreliable men in line.

So instead of stamping the file, Montgomery placed it off to the side and turned his attention to the other reports marked urgent.

\---

The Nord Republic was situated in the Northernmost portion of the Empire, a region well known for its unpleasant, never-ending winters. The snow fell near-constantly, and for a brief period during the year, the sun would almost entirely disappear. During the spring, the winters would temporarily give way to frequent rains, which would turn the frozen landscape into a difficult-to-traverse marsh. Tanks and trucks would regularly become bogged down, forcing crews to abandon them. The initial invasion of the republic had cost the Empire dearly; the behemoth was forced to rely on its superior manpower to simply overrun well-entrenched positions. Later in the second war, X-0 wound up taking advantage of the Magnus, using the submarine to travel along the coastline.

The squad of Kriegstotcher was formed partially with the inhospitable nature of the region in mind. As the Commissariat technically had no military functionality, Montgomery had handpicked men from various other parts of the army, focusing on soldiers who had fought in harsh conditions.

Given that they had fought along the Crystal Sea, along with their brutal training, Nikola and Chiara too were adept at fighting in such an extreme region. However, as a consequence of Crymaria’s blizzard, the spring thaw had slowed significantly. Without continued adjustments or Belgar’s medicine, both girls found their bodies were no longer as resilient toward the elements. They often found themselves fighting over who had hogged the blanket the night prior.

Even Karl seemed to have permanently fused his uniform to several blankets and would constantly mumble about how he would gladly take over the unstable Eastern Commissariat if it meant being far away from the North. Of course, Gunther, a Nord himself, was unbothered by the weather and would often tease the miserable soldiers by stating that it was quite mild.

In the headquarters, Karl, huddled within his blankets, continued to throw wood into the small furnace which was suppose to heat the small building. Nikola and Karl had spent the early morning looking over the very simple plan to contact the loyalists. A coin toss had determined that Chiara would be forced to brave the cold to handpick the three soldiers needed to assist during the first phase of the operation. She had cursed viciously at both of them, but in the end was pushed out the door. A broad map was situated on the table in the middle of the small room. Two cups of steaming cups of coffee sat on either end of the square table; both Karl and Nikola nursed them slowly to avoid having to brave the cold for more.

Nikola looked over the map of their mission closely. She could feel the immense pressure to live up to her new boss’s expectations. Her periwinkle eyes intently followed the various lines and marks on the map, which marked various strategic positions and various encampments. Her blank facade did little to hide her complete misery. The cold was a brutal reminder of her time with X-0. No matter how hard Nikola tried, she could not stop her hands from shaking, despite the heavy cloak that hung loosely over her shoulders. The thick heavy wool in combination with her insulated knit top should have served to insulate the heat nicely, but the cloth could do little to warm a shattered spirit.

“What do you think?” Karl asked, patiently taking a sip from his mug. He actually was feeling quite comfortable layered in several blankets. Although he longed to be able to sleep for more than a few hours, like many Commissars, he had developed an amphetamine addiction to handle the immense work required from the job. He had overdone it while drawing up the operational plan and was starting to feel extremely sluggish. Coincidentally, the compound Karl took was quite similar to the medicine Nikola and Chiara took regularly during their time with X-0.

“Nothing stands out,” Nikola said softly, absorbed in thought. “Though I can see several things that could go wrong.” She was tracing one of the lines with her finger.

“Such as?” Karl said, walking over and standing behind the girl. Looking over her shoulder, he could see she kept coming back to Lowerholm.

“How much do we really know about these loyalist? Are they dependable?” Nikola asked, taking off her beret. She rested it on the table. Karl thought it was admirable how serious she was taking her new job.

  
“Casper Ulf is their leader. He is..a bit unorthodox, but there is no doubt hes a competent leader who inspires his men,” Karl replied, trying to recite his report from memory. “His loyalty is unquestionable; however, there is some debate if it’s toward the Empire or the Nordic people.”

“So he’s capable. But what about his men?” Nikola said, obviously singular in her focus. Karl had noticed both girls had started taking the lives of men under their command more seriously, which boded well for the coming operation.

“That is the question isn’t it?’ Karl said flatly. Only a few battles had occurred since the Nordic civil war had begun, and as far as he knew neither the republicans or the loyalists had really made any major gains. That was why it was critical to get in contact with the loyal armies as quickly as possible.

Nikola hummed and crossed her arms. After looking over the map one more time she said, “We can handle it.” The blonde girl reached over and picked up her cup. She took a small sip and glanced at Karl.

“I am rooting for you,” Karl said somewhat cynically. It was true though. He wanted the girls to succeed, simply so he did not have to come back to the unbearable North. Before he could say anything else, Chiara pushed the wooden door open. She was shaking violently, arms crossed and scowling.

“I hate you both!” she exclaimed through chattering teeth, stomping her feet. Snow fell onto the floor. Nikola turned to face her friend and snickered cruelly. Chiara’s nose was running, and she snuffled loudly. “What?” Chiara demanded nasally.

“Did not realize you were such a wimp,” Nikola chided with a slight smirk. Watching Chiara suffer was still the older girl’s favorite past time.

“How about you bite me, Nikola?” Chiara grumbled, making a beeline for the furnace in the corner of the room. She sighed in relief, holding her hands out in front of it. Nikola giggled at her friend’s response.

“Did you choose what men to take on phase one?” Karl asked as he returned to his seat. Shakily, he tried to pull out a cigarette but, after dropping it, simply frowned.

Chiara sniffed loudly and started to massage her arms. “Ah, I can feel them again,” she said aloud, ignoring the question. The Commissar sighed and stood up. He walked over behind the freezing girl and placed one of his blankets around her shoulders. She looked at him, surprised by the gesture.

“If agents under my command freeze to death, it looks bad.” he said simply, returning to his seat. He was actually starting to worry the weather would be detrimental to the operation.

“T-thanks,” Chiara mumbled awkwardly. Even small acts of kindness were still disconcerting to her. She wrapped herself in the thick blanket and walked up to map. “I didn’t have to choose anyone. Fedor, Sorina, and Gunther volunteered.”

“Ugh, the engineer?” Nikola muttered, furrowing her brow. She respected Sorina’s ability, and the chaplain Fedor rarely said anything outside of religious ramblings. But if there was one person in the squad Nikola could not stand, it was the optimistic engineer.

“He would not let me in the tent until I agreed to take him,” Chiara said with a frown. She had nearly taken his arm off when he did not move, but she was so cold, she couldn’t muster the will to fight. She sniffed loudly again and sneezed. Her whole face felt swollen and she could barely breath through her nose.

“You getting sick?” Karl said, casting her a sideways glance. He felt a little guilty forcing the girl out into the elements earlier.

“Yeah, Chiara. Maybe you should go the infirmary,” Nikola said snidely. She giggled at the idea of making her partner go out into the cold again.

“You can go to hell! I won’t give you the satisfaction of scraping up my frozen corpse,” Chiara said, sitting down on the floor in a big huff. The small girl’s head barely reached the top of the wooden table—a fact that caused Karl to stifle a small laugh. “I am fine. I can still fight,” she proclaimed confidently, crossing her arms. She did not want to miss a chance to being in a real battle again.

“If you sneeze on the mission, I will pack your mouth with snow,” Nikola said harshly.

“Then I am not sharing my blanket with you tonight,” Chiara bit back. They both were soon arguing again.

“That is enough, you two,” Karl said, getting bored with the scene. His agents were as dysfunctional as ever, but at least they were not trying to kill each other anymore. “I expect you to be ready to move tomorrow morning, no matter the weather.”


	2. Chapter 2

\--3 April 1936--

The weather had changed in their favor the next morning. It was still unbearably cold and dim as the sun had yet to rise, but the snow itself had stopped falling and visibility had improved. Karl had assured the girls he would be in radio contact throughout the whole operation, though he firmly believed they would handle the mission without fail.

For the mission Nikola and Chiara were both squad leaders, but only Nikola would have the final say on how things proceeded. Karl believed Chiara was too hot-headed to react rationally under the pressures of command. Fedor would be handling the radio, while Sorina and Gunther were to provide support. The mission was extremely straightforward—just a matter of establishing contact with the loyalists, but crossing into enemy territory always carried risks.

Gunther, Chiara, Sorina and Fedor waited in the center of the camp for Nikola to go over final mission parameters with Karl. Fedor was praying and kneeling in the snow. Gunther, who had arrived earlier then the rest surprisingly, had already smoked half of his pack of cigarettes. Sorina was distant and busying herself by messing around with her rifle.

Chiara still had a slight cold and continued to sniffle noisily. She was maintaining a permanent scowl to appear strong. They were all wearing their winter weather gear to prepare for the long day ahead. Fedor was in a warm white fur coat which covered his normal uniform all the way to his boots. His head wrap made it so only his green eyes were visible. Sorina was layered underneath a white, loose-fitting cloak which stopped at her waist; if she was cold, it was hard to tell, as she certainly didn’t react. Chiara was wearing her standard combat uniform with a warm cloak draped around her shoulders, though she still stood out like a sore thumb with her red beret. However, she fit right in compared to Gunther, who was entirely unbothered by the cold in his summer fatigues and an unbuttoned long black wool coat. When asked if he was insane, the engineer smiled and said, “Probably.”

Chiara watched confused as Fedor continued to pray. He sat on his knees, eyes closed with his hands clasped firmly together. He continued to mumble to himself, and the girl could only catch a few words.

“Almighty… Please…” His voice was guttural and heavily accented. The man was seemingly in a trance, oblivious to the others around him. In fact, he had started praying almost immediately after arriving shortly after Gunther.

“What is he doing?” Chiara asked out loud. She had generally avoided the man, as he had a rather intimidating aura. The chaplain had never complained about either girls’ gender or ever questioned an order. He seemed to command great respect from many of the other soldiers and held frequent prayer sessions.

“The Father always asks for protection before operations,” Sorina answered. She had not been paying attention and was too busy trying to clean a piece of her rifle. The newer models of the ZM series of sniper rifles were prone to jamming due to the Empire’s outdated assembly practices; many rifles lacked standardization. It was this reason that she had to spend so much time on maintenance for her gun.

“I don’t get it,” Chiara said bluntly. She had been indoctrinated almost as soon as she could talk with all the basic ideas expected of any Imperial citizen, but Belgar placed little emphasis on the matters of the spiritual; he considered such superstitious concepts far beyond superfluous for Chiara and Nikola’s purpose.

“You do not have to. He will kill anyone you tell him to,” Sorina said with a shrug. She was looking off into the woods through her rifle’s scope. “And he will pray for their souls afterwards.” The sniper was finally satisfied with her rifle and slung it over her shoulder.

  
“Souls...” Chiara mumbled to herself. She brought her foot up and looked at the sole of her boot. When Gunther started to laugh at her reaction, she frowned. “What!?” she bit back at him, stamping her foot down.

“Not ‘sole,’ boss,” Gunther said, wiping a tear from his eye. “ _Soul_.” He motioned around him vaguely. “What makes us who we are. The ghost in the machine.” He found Chiara’s lack of practical knowledge always surprising and had once asked Karl why the girl was so sheltered. The tired Commissar had just waved him off, stating it would be up to Chiara to tell Gunther herself.

“Who we are?” Chiara scoweled. The implication made a heavy knot form in her stomach. How she had always seen herself was heavily influenced by her experiences growing up under Belgar. The doctor had never even considered the girl remotely human, and only saw her as a weapon that needed to be altered enough until it functioned properly. The idea of being a tool and nothing more settled heavily on Chiara’s spirit.

“Be careful now. None of us want Fedor lecturing us about the soul,” Sorina said wistfully. The sniper found Fedor’s numerous criticisms of her life exhausting. He had also threatened to burn her at the stake once for being a conjurer of tricks.

“You scoff, but he’s got divine protection. What do we have?” Gunther grinned and pointed at the kneeling man. The engineer did a quick once over of all his pouches to make sure had everything then went back to what really mattered, the cigarette in his hand. He was nearly finished with his third one, and it was helping to soothe his nerves.

“As long as I have my dunkel I don’t need any protection,” Chiara said confidently. She gently ran her hand over her frightening crossbow. Gunther’s modifications had used different materials than the original model, which actually made the weapon lighter.

“I am excited to see that beast in action,” Gunther said hoping to finally know the specifications of Chiara’s weapon. “Will you test the bolt if we get the chance?” He had been hoping to get an adequate combat trials for the new bolts he had been developing. He had conducted a few trials with Chiara’s help, and they had determined the bolt did actually work; at least, they only exploded before firing about five percent of the time.

“I can test it on you right now,” Chiara said with a twitch in her eye. But before doing anything she sneezed and snorted loudly. She exasperatedly wiped her nose on her cloak. It was the first time she had been sick in her whole life and she hated it. Belgar’s medicine had always allowed her to ignore physiological symptoms.

Gunther started to laugh heartily. “I bet you will sneeze and drop the thing,” he said with a foolish grin. He was one of the few men who seemed totally unfazed by the bloodthirsty agent.

“Shut up! You moron!” Chiara shouted and kicked Gunther’s shin. Suddenly alive with rage, she snarled aggressively at the man. The engineer jumped back and hopped on one foot for a second.

“Damn shrimp. Those boots are sharp,” Gunther teased, clearly not having learned his lesson.

“S-shrimp?” Chiara’s eye started to twitch aggressively at the word. “You are the freak here! You giant!” she shouted, lunging at the engineer. Anticipating the hot-headed girl’s charge, he stepped out of the way quickly. The two started to do an elaborate dance while the angry agent raved at the Engineer.

Fedor opened his eyes, disturbed by the ruckus being caused. His frown was obscured by the mask covering his face. He stood up slowly. Sornia’s eyes flicked to the standing priest and she took a step back. Chiara and Gunther were too busy being at each other’s throats to notice.

“To distrupt a warrior’s prayer before battle is to consign him to death.” The priest was shockingly soft spoken but his eyes were burning with a rage that caused both Chiara and Gunther to stop fighting. “I cannot do the Almighty's work if I do not know what he commands.” Gunther and Chiara slowly let go of each other casting awkward glances.

  
“Battle? Expecting trouble?” Sorina asked. She took all prophecies, even those from their own religious zealot, seriously.

“Perhaps. But a witch like you should already know,” Fedor said mysteriously. “I am glad I entrust my life to the divine and not the corrupt souls of this squad.” The holy man slowly looked at each of the faces in the squad. Even though only his eyes were visible, it was clear he was disgusted.

“Ah crap. Hes going to start talking about souls,” Gunther said, grabbing his hat from the ground where it’d fallen during the fight. The engineer carefully placed his had back on his head and adjusted it. He shivered slightly and decided it was about time to button up his jacket.

“Corrupt? What does that even mean?” Chiara asked, directing the question at Gunther. She looked up at the tall man hoping his reaction could tell her how she was suppose to feel. Everything about the priest was so alien to the girl.

Gunther shrugged. “Impure. Unclean. Religious folk are so deeply concerned with the mortal soul after all.” He sounded uncharacteristically cynical. The answer did not help clarify anything for the confused girl. The engineer’s face was also unreadable, as if he was trying to avoid rousing the priest's ire.

“Unclean? Do you wash your soul?” Chiara said naively. Her brow was scrunched up in confusion. She was not as stupid as the question suggested, but totally out of her element and desperate for someone to clarify the inane ramblings of the holy man. He seemed to take his belief’s seriously and left Chiara wondering if she even had a soul, let alone how you were supposed to take care of it.

Gunther chuckled at the question. Then realizing Chiara was serious he stopped laughing. “So seriously. You don’t know what a soul is?” He raised an eyebrow at her. The zealous Fedor had fallen silent and was watching the girl closely. His bushy eyebrows seemed to be scrunched up in thought. Even Sorina had suddenly snapped back to reality.

Chiara looked around at everyone and crossed her arms. “O-of course I do.” She looked down and kicked snow up with her feet. The reaction of the party only served to make her feel worse. Nikola’s bullying about Chiara’s intelligence during their time with X-0 had left the girl with a serious insecurity. She always privately asked Karl for clarification on things she did not understand to avoid being mocked. Karl at first found it curious, but realizing the girl was really worried about not knowing something, had no problem answering her mundane questions.

“I can try to explain it later, but Fedor says my soul is beyond repair,” Gunther said, allowing a cheeky smile to climb across his face. “So I doubt I am the best one to explain such important matters.” The optimistic engineer went and put an arm around the zealot. Fedor answered by brushing arm off roughly. Gunther started to laugh again at the hostile gesture.

“Everyone has a soul. At least that is what the teachings say,” Sorina said, leaning over Chiara’s shoulder. Whatever teachings the sniper was referring to were also unknown to the girl. The strange woman did not follow the same religious ideas as Fedor and many times acted outright hostile toward the man.

“Everyone?” Chiara muttered under her breath. The whole idea was starting to make her feel sick. The question of whether or not she had a soul made her head hurt. It must be important to have if Fedor was so worked up about it. Realizing she was going to get too distracted to focus on the mission, Chiara hastily pushed the though out of her mind.

Fedor’s green eyes narrowed fixated on Gunther specifically, and he said, “You play games of chance. Your hands are stained by greed.” He uncurled a finger slowly and pointed it at the foolish man. The priest exuded a muted hostility to the party; Chiara briefly wondered why he had volunteered at all in the first place.

“Guilty as charged,” Gunther said, holding out both his arms with a smile. He was unbothered by the priest’s condescension. “If I am doomed to hell, then I sure hope the devil is a gambling man.” He tipped his hat sarcastically at the priest who scowled.

“And you,” Fedor was moving onto Chiara. He pointed a long finger at the small girl. She looked at him wide-eyed and blank. “It saddens me to see such a young soul tainted so black.” The judgment in his voice was clear as day and reminded the girl too much of Forseti’s own judgmental words. Even Gunther and Sorina were surprised by the harshness of the man’s tone.

“Excuse me?” Chiara replied, not entirely sure if she was being insulted or something else. She did not even really understand what the man’s statement implied. She looked around befuddled at the rest of the party. Sorinia was making awkward circles in the snow.

Gunther leaned over and whispered in her ear, “He is insulting you.” He patted Chiara’s shoulder lightly. “Welcome to the club.” The engineer stood up straight and put his hands in his pockets, meeting the priest's stare with an innocent smile. He had been putting up with Fedor’s lecturing longer than most.

“Oh, is he now?” Chiara faced the religious man and started to crack her knuckles. A crooked smile formed on her face. “If you are looking for a fight then just say so next time,” she growled, taking a step forward. Trying to make her feel stupid was just about a guaranteed way to piss her off.

Fedor looked at her and just shook his head, as if disappointed. “Heathens are always so loud and obnoxious.” Before he could say anything further, the crunching of snow caused him to move slightly to the right.

Nikola had finally shown up, looking completely unimpressed with Fedor’s lecturing. “That is enough, Chaplain Servaas.”

Chiara smirked up at the chaplain quite childishly and said, “Yeah. Don’t push your luck.”

“We can replace you if we need to,” Nikola informed him, obviously trying to assert her command.

Fedor looked at her and shrugged. “My mission on this Earth is not yet complete.” He tapped his weapon, a mid-war variant of the standard Zechmeister machine pistol with a solid stock. On its barrel the words “ _Dies irai_ ” were scratched along it.

The chaplain gently caressed the cold metal of his weapon and said, “The Lord still demands my service.”

Nikola nodded, accepting the zealot’s answer. She folded her arms as Chiara approached her. They both looked at the three soldiers in front of them. “We only have six hours of good weather to contact the loyalists. If you slow us down we will leave you,” Nikola warned the group. She adjusted her dunkel’s strap so it hung around her waist.

“Yeah, You all volunteered for this. Don’t forget it.” Chiara added confidently. She needed to get a word in to enforce her own right of command. “I would hate to leave any of you behind.” She started to cackle at the thought but stopped upon realizing everyone was staring at her.

The party set off for the border of the zone. Nikola and Chiara lead while Sorina brought up the rear. The border between Imperial Territory and the Nord Republic was heavily fortified and frequently patrolled by both countries, so the party had to take a “scenic route,” as Gunther referred to it. The scenic route was really crossing the frozen sea on the border of the country—a dangerous task which might have reminded both agents of their time with X-0, had they not spent the majority of the time receiving adjustments in the laboratory.

Even now, though, the strong glaciers caused by Crymaria’s power were long gone, and in its place were thawing sheets of ice which made each step a dangerous one. Moving in a group was dangerous, and soon Sorina split off, lightly stepping across the frozen sea as if walking on solid Earth. Meanwhile Fedor, believing solely in divine protection, walked forward while mumbling a prayer of protection.

A little more based in the realm of reality, Gunther had planned ahead by bringing a pouch of heavy bolts he had lying around the mechanical pool. Occasionally he would toss one forward and see if the ice cracked. It was risky business, and he could never be entirely sure if the weaken ground would support his weight.

Jokingly Gunther said, “How exhilarating! It’s like russian roulette but instead of dying instantly, I get drown in icy water.” Cracking beneath his feet caused him to leap backward into Nikola and Chiara who, despite their pride, had not come up with a plan to cross the Crystal Sea. They had mainly been anxiously inching forward behind the engineer.

Chiara shoved him and barked, “Watch it!”

“Whoa. Easy,” Gunther said and almost slipped, startled by the girl’s strength.

Nikola frowned. “Why are you being so slow?” She watched Sorina and Fedor making ample progress across the sea. “Its like following a snail.”

He looked back them both blankly, “Eh?” Then turned his attention to the rest of the squad and gesturing with his thumb, “My deepest apologies for not being a pious man or making some weird pact with the devil.”

“Well, can’t you at least try to hurry up?” Chiara said bringing her foot down a little hard and distinct cracking sound caused her to skittishly bump into Nikola.

  
Shoving Chiara forward toward the engineer, Nikola grumbled. “Maybe if you both lost some weight, this wouldn’t be so hard.”

Luckily Chiara stopped herself from face planting right into the frozen Sea. “Ow! Shut up Nikola!” Gunther quickly moved to help up his commander, but she just stared at his hand. “What are you doing?”

Gunther, baffled by the question, raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s called a hand, boss.” He hadn’t intended to call her that, but figured he might as well roll with it.

“Boss?” Chiara looked at him, confused by the nickname.

Still holding out his hand, Gunther started to chuckle. “At this rate, boss, your ass will get cold.”

“Stop calling me that!” Chiara said in a huff, but she gritted her teeth took the engineer's hand.

Nikola watched the display of camaraderie with muted disdain. “Isn’t that sweet? I guess morons really do attract each other.” Chiara instantly pushed away from Gunther in embarassment.

“That’s pretty cold, Agent Graf,” Gunther said, not entirely sure why Nikola seemed so hostile about everything. Then with a wry grin he said, mimicking Sorina’s ramblings, “All that negative energy, must be awful heavy. My guess is the ice simply can’t support you.”

“Shut up, idiot.” Nikola glared at him, crossing her arms. “If I wanted to hear what a grease monkey thinks, I will be sure to find you personally.”

The engineer stood up and shrugged. “Alright then. Why don’t you lead then?” He held out an arm, gesturing for her to go ahead.

For a brief moment an anxious look passed her face, but ever prideful, she took a step forward. “Fine then, step aside.”

“Wait for me,” Chiara said, not one to be left in her partner’s shadow. Quickly she came up to Nikola’s side, and both girls took a ginger step forward. When nothing happened, they both looked back at the engineer and smirked.

Gunther stayed firmly fixed in place. He was all for gambling with his life, but he didn’t feel particularly confident at that very moment.

“See? And you were worried,” Nikola said, continuing to press forward. Her heart was beating much faster than normal, but she would allow herself to look weak.

Chiara shot her a glare. “I was not!” As if suddenly forgetting the precarious situation, the two girls started to argue. Gunther, realizing neither girl was paying attention, moved to catch up in case one of them took a wrong step.

Fedor, who was a few feet ahead of them, looked back. It was unclear what he was thinking. In a collected tone he said, “Such unprofessionalism, I expected better.” His eyes flicked the surface below them and for a brief moment, and suddenly he looked worried. He shouted out suddenly, “Stop!”

Nikola, Chiara and Gunther froze in place, all three of them glancing down. The ice wasn’t cracking this time, but only a few inches in front of them was a transparent patch which would have easily broken through had they continued walking on their current path. Cheekily, Gunther said, “See? What I tell you?” He pulled up his pouch and tossed a bolt out. It dropped against the patch and the whole area fractured almost immediately.

Fedor made his way around and said, “If you follow me, you will be silent.” He glared at all of three of them with a fury that made even Nikola shift uncomfortable.

“Aye, aye,” Gunther said with a sarcastic salute, and Fedor looked ready to throttle him.

“We are in charge here,” Nikola said flatly. She felt like the whole scenario was making a fool out of their command.

  
Chiara frowned and piped up, “Yeah, we order you to help us across.” She held up a fist. “Or I will knock your lights out.”

Fedor looked at her and sighed hopelessly. Gunther slapped his back. “Hey, don’t forget.” This time he mocked Chiara’s tone, “You volunteered for this.”

The poor attempt at mimicry illicited a giggle from Nikola and caused Chiara’s eye to twitch. “What did you say?”

Gunther smiled innocently. “Nothing, boss.”

“Quit that,” she snapped at him.

The engineer placed a finger over his mouth. “Shh. Fedor is leading us now.”

Nikola looked at him. “Can you be more annoying?”

“I could sing,” he said with a shrug.

Losing his last ounce of patience, Fedor methodically pulled out a grenade and faced them all. The three fell silent, and he spoke calmly, “If I pull this pin, I go to the maker.” He pointed at them one at a time and continued, “But there is no place at the Lord’s side for the likes of you. So I suggest you be silent and follow.”

Nikola and Chiara exchanged uneasy looks but did not say anything. Gunther couldn’t help but whisper, “Whoa, I think he’s serious.”

It took another hour of carefully following Fedor for the dysfunctional group to reach the other side of the Crystal Sea. The path they were following had been chosen with speed in mind and everyone was grateful to be on solid land again. Sorina, who had made it there ahead of them, was laying on the snow comfortably. Before anyone could speak, she held up a hand and motioned to the embankment.

Everyone dropped to their stomachs and crawled to the embankment. A convoy was stopped on the road a little ways from their position, boasting the flag of the Nordic resistance group, the Blue Rose. Several republican soldiers wearing a hodgepodge of uniforms from the Federation, Gallia, Edinburgh, and a few other groups the Imperial squad didn’t recognize.

The men were trying to get the lead truck unstuck. Nikola whispered, “Sorina, count how many men. Gunther, vehicles.” They both set to their tasks and before Chiara could do anything rash Nikola shot a hand out holding her in place.

Fedor pulled his gun up but did not move to attack and simply waited quietly.

Once satisfied Chiara wasn’t going anywhere, Nikola fumbled with the cylindrical tube around her belt and pulled out a map. If they weren’t going to be able to move for awhile she wanted to be certain they could make up any lost time.

The convoy was made up of several supply trucks and tanks from both the Empire and Federation: primarily a few Federation Minutes, two Imperial heavy tanks whose engines roared even over the winter weather conditions, and one tank no one recognized but seemed to be a command vehicle of sorts. It was unique in that the turret was front-mounted on a clearly inadequate sloped chassis, but it possessed a double barrel 12.8cm caliber gun which caused Gunther to curse the fact he didn’t have a camera. After awhile, the republicans managed to get the lead truck out of the icy mud and the whole line was moving off into the distance.

Chiara poked her head up over the ridge line. “Its clear now.”

“So many enemies. How fortunate,” Fedor said. He suddenly seemed far more invested in the task at hand. “I was almost worried coming up here would have been a waste.”

“That was a lot of armor. I wonder if loyalist are as well equipped,” Sorina muttered, also poking her head over the ridge. Unlike Chiara’s red beret, Sorina actually somewhat blended into the white all around.

“So not just the Federation, but Gallia too?” Gunther thought aloud. “We might be facing more than a group of ragtag rebels.” He thought he had recognized the Vinnish insignia on the command tank, which certainly was not a good sign.

“Does it matter? We should have destroyed them!” Chiara said as she slid back down next to Nikola, frustrated the party had chosen not to fight. Fedor seemed to nod in agreement with the girl’s words.

Nikola spoke up, still looking at the map, “Did you already forget our orders?” She had spent most of the time making doubly sure of the optimal path to the loyalist camp.

“I know, I know! No engagements until we contact the loyalists,” Chiara said, frustrated. She wanted to fight; it was like an itch in her mind that needed to be scratched. However, a small rational voice reminded her the importance of following her orders. She would not make the same mistake twice. “Well, Nikola? You have been looking at that map awhile.” Her tone was childish. Chiara hated deferring to Nikola, but had promised Karl to give her partner a chance to lead.

Nikola nodded and stood up. “We are heading straight ahead. There should be a small lake.” A sudden gust of frigid air caused the blonde girl to grimace. She had noticed a few of her senses had improved over the month and half away from X-0. She was unsure why they had started to return, but she hated being aware of how painful the cold air felt on her face.

The party started to make its way across the frozen wastes. The snow had started to fall softly again but not hard enough to cause concern. Nikola kept asking Fedor to check is pocket watch in order to keep track of the time. She did not experience anxiety normally, but she wanted to be doubly sure the mission was on schedule. Chiara’s cold had started to come back and she was frantically trying to keep her nose from running.

Chiara sneezed and swore under her breath. Gunther snickered and said, “You really should take better care of yourself, boss.” He had found himself enjoying the nickname for Chiara.

“Mind your own business,” Chiara snapped back. She loathed other people’s concern for her because it made her feel vulnerable. “Who the hell would live here!?” She exclaimed after sneezing again. Even her teeth hurt from the cold and she pulled up the loose fitting cloak to cover her mouth.

“Who indeed? What depraved madmen would live out here?” Gunther asked coyly. He enjoyed the dismay his homeland caused foreigners. Chiara cast him a sideways glance, unsure what he was on about.

“Not all of us are the child of yetis,” Sorina said, sounding humorous for once. With her hood on, the pale woman blended entirely into the snow around her. “This is miserable.”

Gunther looked back at her curiously. “Can’t you just cast a spell and warm up?” A sudden gust of freezing wind caused the whole party to shudder and Gunther’s hand shot up to grab his hat. He looked at the albino woman, wide-eyed. “Spooky.”

“What ever do you mean?” Sornia said stifling a laugh. She really had not done anything special and found the coincidence comical. She started to hum to herself softly, further unnerving the engineer.

Nikola quietly listened to the discussion and couldn’t help but feel completely out of place leading such odd people. Everything was so different from X-0, because despite everyone’s differences, no one seemed to be outwardly hostile. Such an alien environment made it impossible for the girl to feel completely at ease with her new situation. Leaning over to Chiara, she whispered, “What do you think?”

Chiara, still shivering, glanced over at her. “Huh?”

“What do you think of...” Nikola made a subtle motion back to the people following them who were still talking among themselves. At least Gunther and Sorina were—Fedor was too busy just mumbling to himself.

  
“So weird,” Chiara said simply, and then a gust wind caused her to shudder again. In a more aggressive fashion than Nikola, Chiara’s own senses had returned in a powerful burst. Colors felt more vibrant and the world felt less hostile; however, another side effect was that the cold felt even more unbearable then usual. Unbeknownst to either girl, such changes were entirely driven by the sudden breaking down of their adjustments.

“Hmm. It is odd to work with people,” Nikola admitted, putting into words their current feelings on command. A sudden twinge of homesickness made her mumble, “I miss the Magnus.”

“I don’t,” Chiara said curtly. She was sick of hearing Nikola constantly complain about how things had been easier with Lord Belgar giving the orders. “You just say that ‘cause you were his favorite.”

For Chiara, regardless of Montgomery’s racism, she was just relieved to be under the thumb of someone who probably wasn’t going to torture her for their failures. At least, that is what the man himself had told them. However, Nikola had been with Lord Belgar slightly longer than Chiara and found it extremely difficult to get used to the vastly different attitudes toward command.

Nikola frowned at the suggestion. “Favorite?” Chiara’s anger oftentimes felt completely irrational and unwarranted. “Try taking some responsibility for once.” The icy words complimented the bleak trek a little too well.

“What am I exactly suppose to feel responsible for, Nikola?” Chiara bit back, feeling a surge of anger. Most of their arguments followed a similar line to the one in Montgomery’s study and represented the dominant anxiety between both girls. Nikola’s cold stare always cultivated Chiara’s insecurity. She gnashed her teeth and said, “Must have been nice, watching from up there. Knowing you weren’t going to have to die.”

The sudden burst of annoyance caused Nikola to make a pained expression. She had trying in earnest to stop being so hard on Chiara but found it a harder task then expected. Her face sunk and she muttered, “I wanted to be there with you.”

Chiara shook her head. “Well, you weren’t.” She could feel her head starting to hurt. “So just shut your mouth.”

A noise from behind caused both girls to look back. Fedor, Gunther, and Sorina had stopped talking and were now listening intently to the two girl’s bicker. Upon being noticed, Gunther said in a childish voice, “Guys, mom and dad are fighting again.”

“Zip it,” Nikola and Chiara said in unison glaring at the engineer.

“Such pointless arguments will only serve to jeopardize this operation,” Fedor said, giving voice to everyone’s concern. “Your past means nothing to the present.”

Sorina nodded, for once in agreement with the holy man. “It would be best to focus on the task at hand. The time to quarrel can come later.”

Embarrassed, both girls looked away. They had been trying to keep the rough patches in their relationship hidden from anyone else. For the most part, Nikola and Chiara had been successful, but occasionally their disagreements would be irreconcilable. Returning to her flat cadence, Nikola said, “Noted. It won’t effect the mission.”

Chiara to changed her tone, and with confidence said, “Yeah, we may argue—” She quickly looked over at Nikola. “—but we are more than able to work together.”

“Right,” Nikola said with a nod; to everyone else it was an odd exchange, but to Chiara it was an affirmation she needed.

The party fell silent and continued to trek toward the loyalist encampment. Soon enough, though, Gunther and Sorina started to debate whether or not she could shoot an apple off his head in the blizzard. The engineer seemed oddly enthusiastic about the idea and lamented the fact he didn’t have a fruit on hand.

Fedor, who was in a meditative state, suddenly interrupted the two by saying, “Trofim. Aren’t you on the wrong side here?”

Chiara, who was walking slightly ahead next to Nikola, pricked up her ears to listen. Gunther adjusted his heavy pack and cocked his head to one side. “People keep telling me that, but the Imperial Alliance had already annexed the republic when I was born.” Being somewhat self absorbed, Chiara hadn’t realized the engineer wasn’t Imperial either and suddenly found herself listening closely to the conversation.

With a shrug Gunther added, “I was raised to follow the Emperor as much as anyone from the interior.”

Sorina, who was also listening, spoke up. “Interesting. So you have no opinion on your homeland’s current state?”

Gunther put his hands into his jacket pockets and said, “Am I suppose to? I haven’t been home for like… three years now.” He chuckled and added, “According to my pops, most nationalists forget how bad things were before the occupation.”

Fedor seemed to accept the answer and pondered it deeply. Chiara piped up, “So wait… You aren’t an Imperial?”

Gunther looked at her, baffled, and slowly lifted up his cap revealing his light blonde hair. “No, I am an Imperial just like everyone here.” He ran a hand through his hair and quickly placed his cap back on. “That is how it works, right? The Empire doesn’t care who you are if you assimilate.”

Chiara didn’t really understand what he meant. However, she was still feeling insecure from the whole soul debacle and didn’t want to say anything that would make everyone focus on her ignorance again.

“Well, mostly,” Fedor said, suddenly back into the conversation. He scratched his chin. “The Lord loves all people, but extremists like York certainly do not.”

“Yeah, but Lord Commissar York is a fringe element,” Sorina said in thought. “No one else would give the likes of us another chance.”

“Likes of us?” Gunther echoed, starting to smile. “What on Earth do you mean? Boss here is clearly a well-adjusted individual.”

Having given up on fighting the nickname, Chiara rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else. She had too much on her mind to yell at the engineer. Instead, Nikola, still facing forward lamented, “Nothing is simple anymore.”

After walking for a little longer she stopped abruptly and held up a hand, bringing the party to a halt. “There it is.” She pointed toward a small encampment. The camp was only composed of two tents; altogether it all seemed to be hastily constructed, which made sense given the loyalist’s precarious position.

Once the party got closer to the camp, several armed men stopped them. The men were wearing a hodgepodge of various different uniforms, while most their equipment were relics from the imperial occupation. The men looked unsure how to react to the heavily armed party.

Nikola sighed and pulled out a seal depicting the Commissariat’s symbol. She recited the code phrase coldly, “The Northern wind blows again—” She had rehearsed the full phrase several times with Karl.

The lead man looked at her for a second before realizing what she meant. “—and so the invaders will be thrown back,” he finished. “So you are the Imperial soldiers we were promised.” He looked up and down the small girl’s leading the party. “Not what I expected, to say the least.” The man twirled his blonde mustache curiously eyeing the group in front of him.

“We get that at a lot,” Chiara said crossing her arms. She would have said more, but Nikola shot a glare at her. They were not here to pick a fight with their supposed allies.

“Are you Casper Ulf?” Nikola said subtly scanning the rest of the men surrounding them. The loyalists were hard to gauge as a unit, and she wondered if they would be any use at all.

The man shook his head. “No. Captain Ulf was captured during our retreat from Lowerholm three days ago.” He motioned for them to follow him.

The interior of the camp was in in a poor state. Many of the loyalist partisans were wounded and looked totally demoralized. Two Imperial light tanks sat in the center of the camp. Their front-mounted turrets were heavily worn, as if in constant use. They hummed softly, suggesting the loyalist intended to be ready at a moment’s notice. Several square ragnite generators sat beside the tanks.

“Grim bunch,” Gunther said, looking around.

The man reached one of the tents and entered. Sorina informed them she would wait outside, as she did not like enclosed spaces. Fedor wanted to take some time to pray for a safe return and returned to the edge of the camp.

Nikola, Chiara, and Gunther entered the tent after the man. Once inside, both girls found themselves relieved to be out of the cold. Gunther stayed by the entrance and had already pulled out something to smoke.

A small ragnite generator in the corner was attached to a dangling light bulb. A large table made up the majority of the tent, with a map of the country situated on top.

The mustached loyalist put his helmet on the table and said, “My name is Otto. I am the acting commander of this band of fools.” He sounded exhausted and tossed and his rifled on the table. It clattered against the wood. He pulled up a chair and sat down, putting his feet up on the table. He looked the girls up and down again, narrowing his blue eyes. His face was deeply wrinkled and looked aged past his years. “The Commissar said nothing about sending children.” Gunther snickered under his breath.

“And Commissar Ludwig said nothing about working with a fossil,” Nikola said curtly. She was tired of people bringing up their age. “You said Ulf was captured? What is the situation?” Her voice was flat as always, but she managed to come off as a commander. Otto looked at her curiously and then looked over to Chiara who glared at him. He hesitated for a moment.

Both girls’ possessed an intimidating aura. Otto decided to take them seriously. He took his feet off the table and sat up straight. “The situation? Bleak to say the least,” his bushy mustache quivered and he continued, “Volunteers from Castledon were bad enough, but now we are also dealing with advisers from the Federation.”

He leaned forward and added, “Also, I think you should know my scouts have reported that a group of heavily-armed Vinnish soldiers were spotted disembarking at Tolna.”

“Vinnish soldiers? Are they creating a cause for invasion?” Gunther asked, looking a little off-put by the suggestion.

Otto pulled on his mustache thoughtfully. “That remains to be seen; it was only a small escort. But they are armed to the teeth.” He leaned back, assuming a relaxed position once more. “Mark my words, something big is coming.”

Nikola raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure, old man?”

Staring straight into the girl’s cold, perwinkle eyes, Otto spoke in a measured tone. “Two of our best squads were wiped out to a man.” He put both his hands together, never breaking eye contact, and Nikola shifted uncomfortably under the eyes of the tired old soldier. “The survivor insists it was a single woman, and that she was engulfed in a beautiful blue light.”

Nikola and Chiara froze, and in unison exclaimed, “Blue light!?”

Gunther moved up next to his commanders and asked, “Ring a bell?” The only blue light he was familiar with was ragnite engines and he was fairly certain they did not wipe out whole squads. Usually, at least.

Ignoring him, Chiara leaned over and whispered, “Nikola, Karl didn’t say anything about a valkyria.”

Nikola whispered back, “The reports didn’t either...”

Both Gunther and Otto were staring at both girls, with varying looks of concern. With a raised eyebrow Otto said, “Something we should know?”

Knowing the importance of concealing information, Nikola looked at him blankly and said, “Probably nothing.” She patted Chiara’s back, “Radio in an update to Commissar Ludwig.”

Chiara nodded, and in a quick move, grabbed Gunther by the jacket. “Come on, giant.” He didn’t protest as she dragged him out of the tent.

Nikola turned her attention back to Otto. “Commissar Ludwig has also instructed me to take down a list of supplies your army needs.” She reached into her pocket, removing a small black leather journal, which she had been using to catalog her thoughts. The front of the book also served as a place to take notes for the mission.

Otto nodded and moved both hands behind his head. “I can only speak with what I know, as of this moment.” He paused, and Nikola stared at him, waiting for him to speak. “First, we need more armor and the ragnite to move it. Second, as much ammunition and guns that can be spared.”

This went on for some time, with the Nord loyalist occasionally remembering something he had forgotten, causing Nikola to sigh impatiently at the old man’s unreliable mind. Eventually, though, everything was written down and she shut the journal, quickly returning it to her pocket.

Finished listing out his army’s needs Otto said, “Truthfully, Getting back Ulf is a greater priority than anything else.”

Nikola put both hands on her hips, managing to come off in control of herself. “Where is Ulf now?”

  
“Those damned Jacobins are taking him back to the capital for trial.” Otto stood up and leaned over the map. He pointed at a red circle on the outskirts of Lowerholm. “They will be holding him here. It’s a military encampment.”

“Do you know how many men are defending it?” Nikola asked, moving her hands to the crossbow that was hanging around her waist. She couldn’t help but perk up at the idea of killing someone.

Otto looked the girl, surprised by her reaction. He scratched his chin. “Couldn’t tell you. Maybe five hundred to a few thousand men.” He could only extrapolate on republican strength due to the chaotic nature of the civil war. Otto was fairly certain the Republican forces had more manpower, but they lacked quality in comparison to Ulf’s more seasoned military veterans.

“We will handle it,” Nikola said, turning around abruptly. Under the surface, she wanted to prove that she was not a wasted investment for the Commissariat.

“Wait— you can’t be serious,” Otto said quickly, somewhat amazed at her readiness to rush off into battle.

Nikola stopped at the entry to the tent and said, “Strike fast enough, and the enemy won’t have time to react. Then all that matters is pulling out before you have to take responsibility.” She had entirely misunderstood Klaus’s innuendo for actual strategy, and Otto raised his eyebrows, curious at her implication.

Before leaving completely, She poked her head back in. “We are going to need a vehicle.” Otto gave her a quick nod and Nikola left.

Stepping outside again, Nikola found Chiara and a helpless Fedor, who was wrapped in the cables of the radio receiver, sitting in the middle of the camp. “What do you mean you didn’t think it was important!?” Chiara shouted into the line as she further entangled Fedor, who looked ready to make his peace with his god.

Nikola gently tapped Chiara’s shoulder and the girl spun around. Nikola held out her hand and Chiara handed the receiver over to her.

“Commissar Ludwig. This is Agent Graf.” Nikola said, mustering a professional tone. She couldn’t deny that she liked feeling in command.

The radio crackled for a moment, and then Karl’s voice could be heard. “Nikola? Give me a full report.” She complied and unknowingly repeated everything Chiara had already told the Commissar, who was actually taking notes on the other end of the line. Fedor found himself being tugged around in the snow as Nikola paced haphazardly around the snow.

After repeating what Otto had said about the sightings of a woman and a blue light, Nikola asked, “Were there any reports about the presence of a valkyria?”

Only the sound of crackling could be heard for a moment. “No, but I am willing to guess the Vinnish brought it with them.” Pure conjecture, but Karl had a hunch. “But do not let it effect your mission objectives. The testament of one shell-shocked soldier is hardly sufficient proof.” His voice was hard to interpret over the line, but Nikola felt like she should believe him.

“I understand,” Nikola said, allowing Chiara to come in closer to listen to the receiver as well. “Commissar Ludwig, I would like permission to free Ulf from capitivity with our current team.”

“Very well, I will approve it.” Karl said without hesitation.

Nikola and Chiara were surprised by his quick response, having expected a predictably bureaucratic answer. “Seriously?” Chiara blurted out.

“Yes, I have complete faith in you both,” Karl said bluntly. There was silence over the line again, but then he added, “Success is paramount. Should something go wrong, do not allow yourselves to be captured.”

“We won’t fail,” Nikola said flatly. She glanced at Chiara, who nodded in support.

“Very good. Good luck.” Karl cut the line without another word. Nikola returned the receiver to the hook on Fedor’s radio, and the chaplain scrambled to free himself from the cord.

“So, what is happening?” Gunther said, looking confused.

“We are going to take the fight to the republicans,” Nikola said, confidently cracking her knuckles. Despite her size, she could be quite intimidating.

Chiara let out an excited yelp. “You mean it!” she exclaimed happily. “I can’t wait.”

Nikola smiled at her partner’s reaction. Chiara always had an innocent quality about killing that Nikola quietly found endearing.

Fedor was the next squad member to speak. Standing up after being freed from his cocoon of wires, he said, “Excellent. Exactly as the Almighty predicted.” He checked his submachine gun.

Gunther scratched his head. “What are we up against then?” He was always cautious to throw his life away meaninglessly.

“A whole encampment,” Nikola said flatly. Chiara let out another excited yelp at the suggestion; she was glad this mission wouldn’t be a total bore.

Fedor, too, looked pleased at the realization and smiled, putting a hand over his heart. “Truly I am blessed.”

Gunther started to chuckle softly. He also found Chiara’s enthusiasm endearing. “I always did like long odds.” He slapped his pack of ammunition. “Just remember. I only have about two hundred bolts in here. Be sparing, or at least be accurate.”

Sorina was deep in thought for a moment, then slowly shrugged her rifle off her shoulder and pulled back its firing mechanism. “I wonder if I can break my old record.” She checked her pouch of ammunition on the sling that went across her chest and sighed in disappointment. “I only have enough rounds to pop thirty heads.”

“More for me to kill,” Chiara said, punching her fist together. She was so giddy that she could barely stop moving.

Gunther smiled widely again and said, “Hey, boss. How about a wager?” He tapped his rifle. “I bet I can kill more men then you.”

Chiara stopped moving and, suddenly serious, turned back looking at the engineer. “You? Is that some kind of bad joke?” She started to cackle hysterically. Gunther continued to smile innocently at her and she stopped. “Fine. I will take you on. If you lose, I will make you run extra laps back at camp.” She offered a crooked smile. Gunther’s smoking habit meant he had pretty below-average stamina.

“Alright. If I win, you have to give me your officer’s rations for a week.” he said.

Nikola, not one to be left out of a competition, spoke up. “I bet I can kill more then both of you.”

Fedor’s narrowed his eyes and jumped in as well. “By the grace of God, I will prove how deluded you all are.”

“I will kill them before they even see me,” Sorina said nonchalantly. They were also soon debating what the stakes should be on who could kill the most enemy soldiers. If Nikola and Chiara killed more, the rest of the squad would have to run extra laps around the base camp. If Gunther, Fedor, and Sorina won, the two agents would be forced to give up their officer rations for a month and eat MREs personally selected by Gunther. An imbalanced wager, but both girls’ confidence in their own abilities rivaled how much they underestimated the talent of the soldiers under their command.

Otto walked up to the party in the company of about six men. He waited patiently for the party to iron the terms of the bet and then said, “We will offer support to cover your retreat.” He pointed at one of the light tanks. “If any of you can drive it, it’s yours.”

Everyone turned to face Gunther. He held up his hands and said, “I failed my trials to drive a tank.” He had nearly killed his crew because he would not stop smoking.

“You don’t have to drive it. Just go fast enough to smash in through their front door.” Chiara said stringing her crossbow. They finished packing up and double checking their supplies, then boarded the tank. It was a tight fit for the light tank, but soon enough the sound of the ragnite engine off in the distance signaled their leave for Lowerholm.

-

Karl leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes. He had put Nikola in charge because she was supposed to be the level-headed one of the two agents. In truth, it was obvious that her bloodthirstiness was just more subtle then Chiara’s own. Now they were both rushing chaotically into combat once more, which left the Commissar a little concerned.

He also felt the heavy weight of knowing what fate awaited both Nikola and Chiara. Montgomery had discussed it with him shortly after the two had been drafted. At the time, Karl had thought nothing of it because it was not the first time Montgomery had invested into resources he disposed of later. It was part of the job, simply a necessary evil to secure the Empire. Certain people could not be left alive due to the risks they posed. However, it was obvious Montgomery was just planning to clean up loose ends related to the X-0 division. Karl sighed again and sat down, putting his head in his hands. The two girls had suffered so much in their lives; it felt cruel to the Commissar that they would be given a faint glimmer of hope, only to face a firing squad at the end. The Lord Commissar was a vengeful man, and he knew that fact better then most.

Karl massaged his temple. He had been preparing some semblance of an argument in an attempt to sway Montgomery against executing Nikola and Chiara. If they succeeded in freeing the loyalist captain, it would greatly help his case. It was a long shot, but he intended to give them another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a day late, this whole week has been pretty busy. I feel like I have to specify there's no actual explicit romance in this story so don't expect anyone to get together. The only canon ship is Nikola and Chiara x character development.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy this one, definitely tried to make our girls more competent than they were in the game (lol). Also big update: the next chapter of part 2 will be posted on 17th, not the 10th. Almost all of part 1 has been rewritten (and will probably be bumped up to a Mature rating), so next week we will try to have it all edited and posted. Then back to our regularly scheduled updates.

The light tank hummed loudly as the party made its way across the frozen wastes once more. Gunther was driving to the best of his abilities while Fedor operated the turret. Sornia, Nikola, and Chiara bounced around in the back of the cramped metal beast. Imperial light tanks were only meant to be maintained by three man crews, so the party was quite cramped.

“Chiara. If you do not stop stepping on my foot, I will cut yours off,” Nikola said, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise of the engine.

“Where the hell is my foot supposed to go, Nikola!?” Chiara said, elbowing her companion’s side. The two grappled with each other for a second while Sorina watched the scene unfold, occasionally getting jostled by the two fighting. The sniper struggled to stifle a laugh. It was helping to distract her from the feeling of her palms sweating due to being in such a confined space.

“Hey, Trofim. How do I rotate this thing’s turret? I can’t even see where we are going,” Fedor shouted down at the engineer. He was the only squad member with the luxury of being able to stand up.

“There should be a crank. This thing is a relic from the first war,” Gunther informed him, wearing the stupidest grin on his face. He had struggled with the gears at first but soon caught on to how the iron beast worked. It was a wonder to actually be driving the tank; he wasn't planning on telling the others that the driving controls had changed greatly since the first war. He was catching on, though; luckily it was much more simple, and after a minor hiccup and a horrible grinding sound after testing the acceleration, they were well on their way across the frozen land.

  
-

  
Gunther brought the tank to a screeching halt outside of the republican encampment. Chiara and Nikola flew forward into Sorina. The trio all ended up groaning in a pile on the steel floor of the tank. The abrupt stop also caused Fedor to bang his head on the turret rung, which was probably the only time any of them had heard him swear.

Unscathed, Gunther announced proudly, “Thanks for traveling with Trofim’s taxi service.” He pulled a lever and the back hatch of the tank dropped into the snow with a thud. He nonchalantly stepped over the writhing pile of his comrades on the floor and stepped outside the tank. He had stopped a few miles out so they could determine the best entry point.

  
  
Groaning, Chiara struggled to her feet. “I am really gonna kill him.” She helped Nikola up and they climbed out of the tank. The snow had started to fall softly and it was clear the weather was changing for the worse.

  
  
“Hmm. We better do this quick,” Nikola said, holding a hand over her eyes. The snow wasn’t particularly bright, but visibility was becoming poor. Fedor remained in the tank but Sorina pulled herself out of the metal beast gracefully. She climbed on top of the tank and pulled out her monosight, surveying the base.

She calmly relayed what she could see: two sets of guards patrolling the perimeter of the camp, a stone structure in the center surrounded by several tents, searchlights being used to light up the area, a fence of wood and barbwire wrapped around the entire encampment. She could also see machine gun emplacements on several of the guard towers.

  
  
The albino sniper finished relaying the information and hopped off the tank. “I can set up here and have a good view of the area,” she offered, replacing the magazine in her rifle. She would blend perfectly into the snow.

“I am guessing if the captain is there, he is likely being held in the middle building,” Nikola said with a shrug. If she was wrong they could all end up dead, but then again, strategy was never her strong suit.

“So that is the plan, then? Dive this poorly armored hunk a junk into the center of camp and hope the guy is there?” Gunther asked, trying to come off cool and collected, but it was obvious he was starting to sweat the decision.

  
  
Chiara kicked the side of the tank and crossed her arms. “Yeah—simple, easy. All we have to do is kill them all.” Despite her early experiences she still lacked impulse control and a proper fear of death.

“Priority one is still evacuating Casper safely,” Nikola said while loading a bolt into her dunkel. She was considering their options to do it efficiently.

Gunther adjusted his ammunition cases. He counted them, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll try to keep track of ammunition. Try to go easy, though.” He wasn't looking forward to the idea of being caught without any bullets.

  
  
A lightbulb went off in Nikola’s head. “Chiara. You and Gunther hold the enemy off.”

  
  
“Oh? Letting me have all the fun?” Chiara perked up, though she was confused by Nikola’s offering.

“I will still kill more men than you, do not worry,” Nikola said confidently, “but someone has to find our mark. Fedor will cover me.” She trusted the zealot to have her back and did not want to deprive her partner of a chance to really cut loose.

  
  
“This is going to be fun!” Chiara exclaimed, clutching her fist. Her youthful exuberance had returned.

Sorina positioned herself on a slightly inclined piece of ice and watched as the small tank moved in toward the base. She had already lined up a shot on a particularly important-looking soldier in the center of the camp. As long as he stayed in her view range, she could hit him. Nikola pointed towards the side of the base where they'd approach, and they all clambered back into the tank. With the hatch close, they left Sorina to cover them and took off.

  
  
The tank smashed through rows of barbwire and tents with a loud roar. Gunther had given the old metal beast everything he could. Fedor had managed to fire off the single shell that was loaded and caused an explosion to level several tents. The tank slammed to a stop in the center of the encampment as a siren started to blare loudly.

  
  
“Lets go!” Nikola shouted as the hatch dropped, and the four of them rushed out into the camp. Luck was on their side, as many of the republican soldiers were still trying to collect their bearings. A well-placed shot from Sorina caused two men to crumple to the ground instantly. The bullet pinged noisily off their helmets.

“I will kill you all!” Chiara shrieked as she charged into the thick of battle. Her dunkel fired off a bolt, landing squarely in the chest of one of the men with a sickening thunk as it tore through his body armor. The man fell to the ground, grasping at the bolt. Gunther threw down his two heavy packs on the ground outside the tank and, using the metal machine as cover, tried to keep Chiara’s blindspot covered. A nearly impossible task, it seemed, as the small girl ran around the battlefield with a terrifying fury. Her red beret served as a reliable marker for the engineer.

Chiara fought ferociously. Some men had simply grabbed their guns and were trying to rush her while the others were trying to gear up. She jammed her bayonet into the stomach of a soldier who charged her and started to laugh hysterically. Pulling out one her knives, she stabbed a man lunging at her, yanking the blade down to tear open his stomach. The small girl pushed the other soldier off her dunkel and stabbed the man on the ground several times before she was satisfied. A bolt from Nikola whizzed by her head and Chiara turned around. Another soldier was gurgling, dying at her feet.

  
  
“Hey! That is cheating!” she shouted at Nikola. Gunther shot two more republicans as they attempted to flank the girl.

  
  
“Oi, boss! You better be keeping track,” he said, laughing. Chiara went immediately back to fighting upon being reminded of her wager.

Nikola giggled and turned her attention to the door leading into the stone structure. She kicked it repeatedly until the lock gave way. Fedor was in a trance and firing bursts at their enemies, who were now regrouping. She rushed into the room and the zealot soon followed.

-

The intense fighting continued in the encampment. Gunther had gone through several magazines of his ZM Kar 3B, and it was starting overheat. Worried he would melt its barrel, he slung it over his shoulder and pulled out his side arm. It was a modified version of the Zeichmeister broomstick carried by most Commissars, but the engineer had added a thin wire stock and changed the firing mechanism to be fully automatic. It couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at anything over five kilometers, but for an assault pioneer who more often than not found himself fighting only a few feet from the enemy, it was a devastating weapon.

Chiara was still engulfed in the center, terrifying in her speed, and the battlefield around her was dotted with bodies of unfortunate republicans who had been ill-prepared to take her on. The engineer could tell though that she was nearing her physical limit and starting to get sloppy.

Gunther poked his head out from behind cover and shouted, “Boss! You need to pull back!” He was amazed at how hard such a small girl could fight and terrified at how much she was enjoying herself. However, it was clear they were at a massive disadvantage in manpower and needed to stop charging into the enemy’s fire.

  
  
Chiara looked back at him for a second and shouted, “Are you nuts!?” She flipped a republican armored tech over her back and punctured his chest with her knife. Gunther fired two more bursts at soldiers coming up to his side and even though he missed, the men stopped advancing. He cursed angrily. Seeing his commander had no plans to pull back, he sprinted toward Chiara. Reaching the girl, her grabbed her shoulder.

  
  
“We need to draw them together. I have a plan,” he said, feeling a rush of adrenaline. Gunshots and unhinged laughing were heard from the structure. Nikola and Fedor were hard at work as well.

  
  
Chiara looked at him with crazed eyes. She loaded another bolt and fired it at an advancing soldier as he was busy pulling the lever of his rifle. It hit the man’s arm and broke apart into metal shards, tearing the muscle to ribbons. “Screw your plan! I will handle this myself!” she shouted and loaded the special bolt. She flipped the switch on the side and the small metallic bolt started to hum.

Gunther grimaced and jumped behind a small crate to avoid a hail of bullets from several advancing soldiers. The republicans had managed to organize themselves and were making more coherent pushes. He fumbled with the grenades around his belt, trying to keep an eye on his ally at the same time.

  
  
Chiara took aim at another advancing armored tech. He was trying to provide cover so the squad behind him could shoot the girl. In a lightning fast move, she dropped to the ground to dodge gunfire from the men coming up behind her. Gunther watched in awe as she jumped back to her feet and took aim at the advancing shield user. She took a deep breath and muttered something under her breath, squeezing the trigger. The bolt flew through the small eye slit of the man’s shield and crunched right into his head. A bolt of electricity shot through his whole body and he shook violently, dropping his shield.

  
  
The bloodthirsty girl stood, momentarily awestruck, before exclaiming, “That was _amazing_!”

  
  
“Perfect! Now get down!” Gunther shouted before tossing a bundle of grenades over Chiara’s head at the advancing squad. The girl immediately jumped behind a small box and the explosion sent body parts flying everywhere. She was ready for more and quickly check her quiver. To her annoyance, she had started to run low on bolts.

“Engineer! I am low on ammo!” she yelled in frustration. Gunther nodded and motioned toward the tank. The two of them, moving together, rushed back toward the armored beast, bullets whizzing past them. Gunther slammed his back into the metal and struggled to breathe. It was the longest he had ever been in active combat. Chiara sprinted back toward the tank, but unfortunately, a stray bullet slammed through the side of her leg. She cried out, startled by the sharp pain to her calf. It was not grievous enough of a wound to stop her, but it did slow her down. With a hobble, she managed to reach the tank and collapsed onto the ground next to Gunther.

  
  
“Ah, shit,” Gunther said, noticing the wound. He dropped down next to his comrade and pulled out a vial of ragnaid.

  
  
“Goddamn it! That hurt, you bastards!” Chiara screamed, gripping her thigh. Seeing Gunther pull out the glowing blue vial she glared at him. “Get that away from me!” She had not asked for his help.

  
  
“Boss, you’re wounded—this will help,” Gunther said, bewildered by her reaction. He knew soldiers who would refuse help because they thought they were tough; however, they were in a pretty desperate situation.

  
  
“It’s none of your damn business!” she shouted at him. The engineer was baffled by her anger; he was only trying to help. “I have to take my medicine!” she screamed again and tried to move away from him. Belgar had always told her to only take his curatives for dealing with pain. In the midst of the fighting she’d forgotten where she was, unaware of what had changed.

Gunther, running out of patience, punched the side of the tank near Chiara’s head. “Stupid! This _is_ medicine!” He brought the vial quickly down near her leg and twisted the mechanism at the bottom, releasing the blue light. Chiara felt herself suddenly relax as the pain dissipated instantaneously.

Feeling better, she grabbed Gunther’s jacket and pulled him close. He was eye-to-eye with her, startled by the girl’s strength. “Tell anyone and you are dead,” she growled, but for a brief moment the engineer could see the panic which lurked behind her twitching eyes.

Gunther believed her, but before he could say anything, an explosion from in front of the tank caused his ears to ring. Chiara jumped to her a feet with renewed fervor. She grabbed a handful of bolts from the pack on the ground. “It’s time for round two, motherfuckers!” she hollered, already sprinting off. Gunther groaned and reloaded. This time he took off after her. He was starting to feel as though his odds of survival were better if he could manage to keep up with her.

-

  
  
Nikola and Fedor had entered the stone building, guns blazing. The structure was the remains of an old fortress that had long fallen into disrepair. Most of the hallways were long gone and there were only a few doors connecting to the main building. However, it was heavily guarded by soldiers who were dressed in Federation and Vinnish army fatigues. The moment the two imperials broke down the door, they were met with a hail of gunfire. Fedor jumped behind a stone pillar and returned fire. Nikola, like Chiara, completely disregarded her own well being and charged straight in to the firing line of the soldiers. Her reflexes were even better than Chiara’s, though, and the blonde girl giggled childishly as the federation soldiers panicked at her speed.

  
  
Nikola jammed a knife into the leg of the man closest to her and pushed him down. She leaped back and fired a bolt through the arm of a soldier taking cover behind a pillar across from Fedor. The poison quickly took effect, and the man dropped to the ground, paralyzed.

“Ahaha! Truly a glorious sight.” Fedor laughed hysterically. Always one to prefer to fight up close, he shouldered his weapon and pulled out a long bayonet.

Tackling a Vinnish soldier to the ground, Fedor stabbed the man in the chest and started to mutter prayers for the dead.

Nikola’s eyes lit up as she dashed around the small area. She only ever felt truly in control during the rush of battle; slowly she could feel all her pent up emotions melting away. With a smile on her face and in a haze of bloodlust, Nikola tore into the surviving defenders.

A Vinnish soldier fired at her and she dropped to the ground, taunting as the bullets whizzed above her head. “Hehe, nice try,” she smiled as she jumped back up. In an instant, the man’s neck was sliced open and he crumpled to the ground, clutching at his throat. Nikola watched, distracted for a moment as the red liquid slowly pooled on the stone floor.

Fedor rushing forward had pulled Nikola out of her trance. There were only three guards left and she stopped him, calling out, “Don’t kill these ones.” She giggled and explained, “We’re going to need some information.”

“Very well,” Fedor said, grabbing the smoking barrel of one of the soldiers. It burned his hand, but the priest shrugged it off and slammed a knee into the man’s chest.

It took only a few more minutes to incapacitate the last two men. Patiently, she kneeled down next to them, smiling uncannily. With the first man, she stabbed one of her knives into his stomach and slowly twisted it. “Where is the key?” she asked, pointing toward the row of iron doors.

“Argh, ah-” the soldier gasped, and the best he could muster was a defiant glare at the small girl torturing him.

  
  
Fedor knelt beside him and said, “Child. The Lord is waiting, but first we need an answer.” The man stayed silent and Nikola continued to mutilate his organs for several minutes until he succumbed to blood loss.

They moved to the next man and repeated the process. This time, Nikola pulled out a bolt from her quiver and said, “See this?” She tapped the small purple vial at the tip of the golden bolt. The second soldier’s eyes moved to it and he nodded. “This is a pretty powerful poison, relatively painless.” She started to explain still obviously enjoying herself. “Tell me how to open these doors, and there will be no reason to go any further.”

  
  
Fedor’s green eyes watch the man intently and he said, “I am sure you would rather leave this world in one piece.”

  
  
Frightened, the second soldier pointed over to a small raised stone beneath one of the desks near the entrance. Nikola giggled and said, “Thank you.” Without another word she stood up, loaded the bolt into her dunkel, and fired it straight into the man’s chest. The poison was indeed relatively painless, but the piercing bolt broke straight through bone, causing the man to whimper.

  
  
“Allow me to speak to this one,” Fedor said, walking toward the final man whose expression was wide-eyed and terrified. “He needs comfort before going to the Almighty.”

Nikola looked at the priest with an eyebrow raised, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. But don’t take too long.” She walked over to the desk and placed a hand on the raised stone. Pulling it up, she found a wring of several keys.

  
  
Fedor got onto his knees and gently put a hand on the third soldier’s head. “Do you have any regrets, my son?” When the man didn’t respond, he continued, “The fear in your eyes is unnecessary. There is no pain where you are going.”

  
  
“Father...” The third soldier said aloud, aware that his own death was coming soon. “Will you pray for my family?”

  
  
Fedor smiled solemnly. “Of course. You were a brave man. It is unfortunate, but have no fear.” He slowly brought the bayonet to the man’s throat and slit it. “Almighty, please accept this man into your fold, even if hes an invader from far away.”

While Fedor was doing his ritual, Nikola was focused on opening each of the cell doors. Most of them were empty. She flung opened the fourth door—finally. Inside was the impressive visage of Casper Ulf, who turned to face her.

  
  
The leader of the loyalist forces was a large man with long light brown hair and a braided beard to match. Several deep facial scars and an eyepatch over his left eye made it clear Ulf was a seasoned combat veteran. His imperial uniform confirmed he was the man they were looking for.

  
  
“Shame. I thought my torturers were finally going to finish the job,” he said gruffly.

Nikola looked up at the man, slightly intimidated by his size. “You are Casper Ulf, correct?” She suppressed the urge to stand on her tip toes. Fedor stood up and loaded a second magazine into his gun.

The grizzled man looked at her, fascinated. “So. You are the Imperial reinforcements then?” He stroked his beard, looking the small girl up and down. Nikola was bracing for a quip about her age. Instead, Ulf simply shrugged. “I have had stranger rescuers.”

“Then, shall we go?” Nikola asked, motioning toward the door. Ulf stepped out of his cell and looked around at the corpses strewn about. He seemed totally unbothered by the display of death; Patiently, he walked over to a door across from his cell and slammed a heavy boot down on its lock. The door gave way and Ulf walked into the room. The sound of clattering metal was heard for a second and the captain returned. He was carrying a massive two-handed, one-sided battle axe. Its bladed head showed the wear and tear of a relic. Fedor and Nikola gave each other surprised glances.

  
  
“It’s ceremonial,” Ulf explained, leaning over and picking up a rifle off one of the bodies on the floor. “These traitors are hardly worth Bjorn’s time.” He stomped the head in of one of the dead men and it popped like a watermelon. Nikola already liked him.

Fedor’s radio crackled and Sorina’s voice could be heard. “Agent Graf. Enemy reinforcements incoming.”

-

Outside, Gunther and Chiara were exhausted. They were both leaning against the tank facing the building. Sorina had saved their skin more than once as the fighting stretched on. Nikola, Ulf, and Fedor emerged from the building, met instantly with the sounds of battle.

“Wow, took you long enough!” Chiara yelled, leaning over and firing a bolt at an advancing pair of men. It flew passed them and smacked into the side of an idle minute tank. She grimaced.

  
  
“Another one?” Ulf muttered under his breath. Gunther jumped inside the tank and tried to get it to start. When the iron beast did not move, he swore angrily and moved to check its rear mounted ragnite radiator. Sure enough, the blue box was sparking, probably damaged during the fighting.

“Bad news guys. The radiator is damaged,” the engineer said, pulling out his tools. “I can get it working, but I need you to keep them off me.” He immediately set to work repairing the tank. He chuckled to himself. The situation was so cliche that he could only assume his luck was running out.

Nikola, excited to finally have a chance at real combat, rushed to Chiara’s side. They were not going to leave each other like last time. Ulf and Fedor took up positions watching the party’s rear. The fighting was intense with everyone giving it their all: one last stretch before they’d have a chance to escape. When Fedor exhausted his last magazine, he pulled out a long bayonet and charged recklessly into the enemies. He was in a trance, repeating various religious verses as he flung himself at his enemies. Unlike Nikola and Chiara, he lacked inhuman agility which caused the wounds to start to stack up. However, Fedor did not care, or seemed to not notice, as to die for the Lord was its own reward for him.

Chiara and Nikola fought side-by-side, covering each other’s blind spots. They moved gracefully, almost dancer-like, following each other left and right as they moved through the battle. Even now, there was something different about the way they fought, as they pushed back the crowd of republican soldiers. They seemed hyperaware of each other, more in-sync. Despite their years together, it was different fighting for the first time without Belgar’s guidance—maybe even better.

“Left,” Nikola said, shooting an explosive bolt into several crates the republican soldiers were firing from. Chiara jumped to her own right and dodged bullets from a republican shocktrooper who had managed to close the gap. She fired a bolt right through the man’s throat and taunted him as he collapsed. She could tell she was at her limit; the wound in her leg was starting to make it difficult to focus.

  
  
“Right!” Chiara shouted back, and Nikola dodged the blade of a republican fencer. She jabbed the man in the stomach with the spike on her knee, then pulled out her knife and with one hand stabbed it down into the man’s back.

Chiara retracted her knife from the chest of a man who’d gotten back up and had attempted to charge her once more. Soon she felt the rush of another approaching her left, but before she could turn, the man was groaning and collapsed at her feet. She heard Nikola giggling in her ear, saying, “Too slow!”

Chiara grit her teeth and turned around, yelling, “That was my kill!” Nikola had moved on, though, so out of spite, she took a shot at a scout the blonde girl was aiming at. She laughed at her partner’s frustration, before freezing as Nikola had pointed the dunkel at her. A bolt shot past her ear, and she could feel the thud of a body hitting the back of her foot. She spun around, slightly shaken by the second close call.

“Not the time to mess around,” Nikola informed her as Chiara spun around, focusing back on the enemy soldiers in front of her. Chiara was going to bite back with a ‘ _worry about yourself, then!_ ,’ but was distracted by a rather annoying soldier who had picked up the body of a comrade to move up towards them. She rushed around him, but due to the recoil of his gun, he was struggling to hit her. Instead, he dropped the body and started spraying bullets in a trail behind her. She jumped behind him and stabbed him in the neck, bringing him down.

“How is it coming, boy!?” Ulf bellowed at Gunther. The captain was watching with great fascination at the spectacle unfolding before him. He felt like he was getting too old to keep up anymore. Gunther did not respond, continuing to fumble with the engine. Suddenly, the engine sparked and started to glow a calming blue.

  
  
“Well, that is a good sign,” the engineer muttered to himself as he climbed into the tank. Banging and cursing could be heard from inside the small hull. Eventually, the tank roared to life and Gunther shouted happily, “I got it!”

“What I like to hear!” Ulf yelled, and the large man climbed in after Gunther.

Upon hearing the tank come to life, Nikola giggled and said, “Its been delightful playing with you all!” She nodded at Chiara, and the two of them pulled back toward the tank.

Chiara leaned over and shouted to Fedor, “Come on! Do not make us leave you behind!” Fedor stopped fighting for a moment and looked back at the agent. He nodded solemnly and sheathed his knife. The zealot quickly entered the tank and slammed the drop hatch shut. The tank jerked forward under Gunther’s control.

  
  
“Hold on, I guess,” Gunther said, pushing forward a lever near his leg. A muffled grunt caused him to look back. He snickered at the sight of the cramped quarters of the tank. Ulf was a massive man and nearly took up the entirety of the back of the vehicle. Nikola, Chiara, and Fedor were uncomfortably mushed up against each other as a result, like a can of well-armored sardines.

The tank was so cramped that once Sorina was picked up, she refused to ride in the interior of the tank, opting instead to lay flat on the long hull of the vehicle. The loyalist armies, true to their word, covered the retreat of Kriegstotcher.

Captain Ulf was returned to the loyalist encampment, which was already being dissembled to move to another location. He was greeted by a battle-weary Otto, whose spirits seemed to improve upon seeing his commander. The two assured Nikola and Chiara the loyalists would begin offensive operations the moment they received the much-needed equipment from the Empire. The loyalists were going to pay for the lend-lease using seized gold from the capital of the Nord Republic.

Having finished their first mission as a unit, the party started to trek back toward Kriegstotcher’s base. The weather was starting to turn for the worst as predicted, but overall, aside from noticeably heavy snowfall, it did little snuff out the group’s lifted spirits.

Enthusiastic from a mission complete, Gunther piped up, “Alright! What’s the body count, everyone?” He was a little tired, but the adrenaline was still pumping, and once again the engineer found himself just happy to be alive.

Trailing behind the unharmed man, Chiara had allowed Nikola to assist her with walking. It was humiliating for the prideful girl, and she ground her teeth in frustration. However, despite having only been grazed, the wound in Chiara’s leg was throbbing and the pain was starting to piss her off. She didn’t understand why it felt so much worse than she was ever used to. Normally such a minor wound would have been easy to shrug off without another thought. Even Nikola felt herself much more exhausted than she was used to after combat, without the aid of Belgar's medicine to help her ignore it.

Fedor, who was humming softly to himself as he walked, answered first. “I lost count.” To his annoyance, he had largely escape the fighting unscathed, which left him feeling hollow. The tears in his armored tunic were noticeable but he seemed unbothered by the cold, absentmindedly continuing to fidget with his bayonet.

Gunther looked back, somewhat disappointed but not surprised that the priest wasn’t going to participate in the wager. “Ah, well, I got six.” The engineer had spent the majority of the latter half of the battle repairing the engine, so he could only estimate anyway.

Nikola and Chiara exchanged looks, and burst into laughter at the low number. Ignoring her leg, Chiara smirked and said smugly, “What, is that all?”

“Oh, I suppose you both did better?’ Gunther said with a supportive grin. He didn’t really care about the bet, but was glad to see his commanders were both a little less uptight following the battle.

Nikola looked at him with an unreadable face. Returning to her flat cadence, she said, “Five or six in the headquarters. Eleven outside.” Even though she was hard to read, it was obvious how proud she was of the number.

Chiara’s cold had begun to bother her once more, which only served to sour her mood further. Grimacing, she sneezed loudly and stepped down wrong on her leg. “Gah!”

“My bad,” Nikola said, changing her position slightly to accommodate Chiara’s small limp. “You were too reckless,” she said quietly to her partner. Despite her emotionless tone, Nikola’s eyes hinted at genuine concern and continued to flit to Chiara.

Tired of what she felt was condescension, Chiara shoved Nikola off her. “I don’t need your pity.”

Nikola’s eyes sunk at her partner’s hostility. She opened her mouth to speak. “I – .”

Chiara interrupted without a pause and proudly declared, “Twenty-three!” Still limping, she made a fist and pumped it. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was the correct number because most of the battle had been a blur for her, with flashes of red obscuring any coherent thoughts. Aside from Gunther’s obnoxious shouting, she couldn’t remember much else.

Gunther whistled, impressed. Having seen Chiara’s inhuman abilities firsthand twice now, he didn’t doubt her for a second. “Pretty good, boss.”

Chiara started to grin through her pain. “It was nothing.”

Nikola noticed that Kriegstotcher’s sniper had been unusually quiet, simply listening to the conversation. “What about you, Sorina?”

  
  
Wordlessly Sorina unhooked a small canvas pouch from her bandolier. She shook it dramatically; the canvas bag made no sound. “Twenty-eight. Too bad the wind changed suddenly.”

Gunther and Fedor exchanged looks and the chaplain exclaimed, “A witch’s word is hardly to be trusted!”

  
  
“Quiet, you superstitious lunatic,” Sorina snapped harshly. “My ability has nothing to do with any sort of dark magic. And we're on the same side of the bet, anyways.”

Fedor rolled his eyes but didn’t speak further. Even if he would never admit it outright, he did respect the woman’s skill.

Trying and failing to do the math in her head, Chiara said. “That means we won right?” She could tell the whole party was slowing its pace to allow her to keep up, and it was only serving to make her push harder.

Not one to lose easily, Gunther turned around and began walking backwards. “Not so fast!” he said, holding up his finger. Both Nikola and Chiara’s eyes narrowed at him and the engineer pointed to Fedor. “Without Servaas’s numbers, we cannot accurately say. Therefore, the bet is void.”

“Coward,” Nikola said flatly. She was definitely starting to catch on to the ways the man would try to avoid losing if he didn’t outright win. She was going to point that out, but she had noticed that Chiara was struggling to to maintain the pace. Quietly, she tried to offer her arm so Chiara could take some weight of her leg.

Instead of taking the assistance, Chiara again pushed her partner back again and growled, “I don’t want your help.”

Nikola looked genuinely hurt and turned away. “Fine then you, stubborn idiot.” Without another word she pushed forward to the front of the party, leaving Chiara hobbling in the back.

Gunther stayed behind, keeping Chiara company while they made the final trek across the frozen sea, which was less perilous with Fedor and Sorina in the lead. Soon the whole team had successfully made it back to imperial territory. Upon entering the camp, Karl was there to greet them, tired as though he had just woken up. He was understandably relieved that everyone had come back in one piece. Fedor insisted a first-aid kit would suffice for his injuries, but Karl still ordered Chiara to immediately head to the infirmary. He waved them off, informing the two commanders that they could debrief later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I'm aware, the Emperor exists/is never named and there's no mention of an Empress, as such... *Tim Heidecker voice* it's free real estate. Also, the editor is going back to college soon so updates might not be every week, but at least every two weeks. We'll keep you posted.

Montgomery slowly worked his way up the steps to the grand Imperial Palace. It was already getting late by the time they arrived; the sun hung lazily in the sky, casting dark shadows across the imposing stone structures of the capital city.

Commissar Ulyana was to the Lord Commissar’s right. She found herself debating if she should help the disabled man up the many stairs that lead to the palace. She decided against it—if there was one thing she knew about man, it was of his pride. She instead patiently waited a few steps ahead for Montgomery to catch up.

Reaching the midpoint on the steps, Montgomery stopped and looked up at the grand square building before him. He looked at it blankly, and Ulyana wondered what the man was thinking. However, he didn’t speak, and instead continued to climb the steps after a moment. His cane rhythmically tapped every time it was brought down on a cobblestone step. Two figures clad in black cloaks were the only people on the steps of the mysterious palace, which was no surprise. Lower class citizens were strictly forbidden from entering the district at all, and most nobles rarely left.

The Lord Commissar reached the top of the final step and sighed in relief. “To hell with the prideful fools who designed this monument to waste.” He leaned heavily on his cane, taking a deep breath.

Ulyana rolled her eyes at the complaint. The old man had spent nearly the whole drive over complaining about various things throughout the city. The roads needed to be paved, too many citizens were allowed to wandering around restricted areas. Looking at the palace itself, she said, “This architecture is one-of-a-kind. I find it beautiful.”

Montgomery shook his head, “Oh, it is gorgeous. Such a powerful display of authority. But…” He trailed off and gestured to the stairs. “One can not deny this is just excessive.”

The Empire had a strict policy against invalids, and it was was obvious Montgomery had only maintained his position in more recent years thanks to the Empress’s own protection. However, Ulyana also considered it was the sheer amount of information the Commissariat had access to, allowing the Lord Commissar to easily deal with his critics.

Turning around to stare out across the mighty city of Schwartzgrad, Montgomery took another deep breath. “Hard to believe we simply allowed our enemies to waltz up to our front door.”

Ulyana watched as his hand tightened around the head of the cane. “An unforgivable transgression... one that all those involved will pay dearly for.” She walked up to his side, trying to be reassuring. “Now the entire Imperial Army understand the consequences of acting alone.”

Montgomery turned to face her. “No one heeded my warnings. If only I had sufficient proof at the time…” He slowly trailed off. His whole imposing demeanor had changed instantly, and the Lord Commissar appeared morose. He acted as though he was deep in thought, and Ulyana did not know if it was appropriate to interrupt him. “I knew Heinrich, and my own foolishness allowed him to escape.”

  
  
“That is not true, Lord Commissar!” Ulyana protested, and he turned to face her. “You have done more to protect our Empire than anyone else. Do not blame yourself because one treasonous Gallian slipped through the cracks.”

Montgomery frowned. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it only takes one mistake.” Ulyana’s eyes briefly moved to the Lord Commissar’s injured leg. He made a fist as his sadness gave way to rage. “It will not happen again. I would sooner see this city reduced to ashes than allow the enemy to dictate the terms of peace.” It was a more likely scenario than many outside of the Commissariat knew, considering the existence of the Federation’s A2 bomb series. However, Ulyana could see that the stalwart Lord Commissar was serious, and had he been in charge of the defense of Schwartzgrad, the city would have been nothing more then a crater.

Without another word, he turned and made his way toward the grand entrance of the palace. Ulyana had to slow her pace to match the man’s own. At the door they were stopped by the palace guard, who demanded they present identification. When Montgomery complied, the two men hastily moved to allow the Commissars to enter.

Ulyana couldn’t believe her eyes—it was all she could do to not audibly gasp. Inside the chiseled stone walls of the palace rested a lush green paradise. Water trickled from the walls into a small pond, which made up the center of the room. Colorful plants only a trained botanist would know covered the entire area. A magical glass ceiling captured the remaining sunlight of the day, softly lighting the room. A faint melody of the Imperial national anthem gently played throughout the room, although she was unsure where it originated from.

A collection of finely clothed of nobles adorned in only the finest Prussian fashion were quietly talking among themselves. Interspersed were a few men here and there wearing military uniforms, obviously important generals of sorts taking time off from the war. However as the two black-clad Commissars entered, the whole area fell silent as wary eyes look over at them. Ulyana glanced at Montgomery who smiled and stood up straighter, clearly enjoying the fear his presence invoked in the ruling class of the Empire.

As Ulyana’s eyes moved across the room, they stopped abruptly upon seeing the monarch herself. Empress Catherine von Gothia was the last child of her noble house. She was an elegant woman with luxurious black hair flowing majestically down past her lower back. She stood watching the water, but Ulyana noticed her shift her head ever so slightly as they had arrived.

When Ulyana was younger and her father wanted his daughter to find a suitable husband, she attended a few lavish parties hosted by the noble families of the Empire. At a few of them, the soon-to-be Commissar had noticed Catherine more than once. Even back then, the regal woman carried herself with an allure and confidence that Ulyana found intriguing, to say the least.

Some of the noble houses had protested the Emperor’s decision to take the last of the Gothia line as his third wife, but the aged man dismissed their claims that Catherine was a poor choice for a queen. As it turned out, she had a more than capable head on her shoulders for managing the internal affairs of the Empire, and her competence allowed the Emperor to pursue his delusional obsession with the valkyur without harming the country.

The Empress turned around to greet the new arrivals, and Ulyana found herself blushing and looking down at her feet, at a complete for loss of words. Catherine was nothing short of breathtaking, with her ivory complexion reminiscent of . She was dressed in a shimmering sunset bronze dress which flowed behind her instantly reminding Ulyana of the painting in the hallway. The Empress was slowly making her way toward them, flanked by several servants with white wigs. Montgomery dropped to one knee, bowing deeply. Ulyana’s mind blanked out for a second, but she hastily followed suit.

  
  
“Dear York, I am pleased you could come.” The Empress held out one of her hands covered in several silver rings. Montgomery was clasping his cane, visibly in pain. His hands were shaking as he slowly kissed the center most ring on the Empress’s hand. “Stand.” The Empress commanded and both both Commissars came to their feet. Montgomery grunted as intense pain radiated from his leg, but refused to allow it to give him pause.

Forcing a small smile, Montgomery said, “I wouldn’t dream of missing one of your… many parties.” His tone was less rehearsed than his smile and was clear to everyone listening that he resented being there at all. Abruptly, he changed his tune and asked, “And how is your husband? When I heard the news, I feared the worse.”

Catherine’s eyebrows narrowed as if she doubt the sincerity of Montgomery’s words. “He is recovering nicely. The last few months have been trying for him.”

“As they have been for all of us,” Montgomery said, shaking his head. “Such a disaster.”

Ignoring him, Catherine looked over at Ulyana, who stood up straighter. “And where is Ludwig? I was under the impression he never left your side.”

This time a real smile came to Montgomery’s face and he put both hands on his cane. “Cleaning up the mess left by our military, as always.”

Catherine matched his smirk and Ulyana couldn’t help but focus on the monarch’s lips, which were a subtle pink that complemented her pale skin nicely. “Such resentment cannot be good for one’s health, York.” The look of disappointment returned to her face, “Pity. I always enjoy Ludwig’s company. He really does bring out the best in you.”

Montgomery was completely oblivious to the suggestion and simply said, “Ludwig is indeed a good man.”

The Empress’s attention returned to Ulyana and she said, “You are the daughter of Wolzogen, correct?” Ulyana quickly nodded, still flustered in the face of the most powerful woman in the country. Catherine smiled gently. “The uniform suits you.”

Without another word, she turned her attention back to Montgomery and held out a hand toward the a small white open-top pavilion sitting next to the water. “Please, shall we play chess? It has been awhile.” She did a quick motion to servants who were still hovering around her, indicating she wished to be left alone.

  
  
One of the newer servants started to protest the idea of the Empress being alone in the company of such a controversial man. “It might reflect poorly on the Emperor and the throne itself,” he whispered.

  
  
Catherine cut the man off with a wave of her hand and declared, “Lord Commissar York’s devotion to the Empire is boundless—far stronger than most natural-born Imperials. Anything he says to me will be said with the utmost respect for my position. Such council is what I need most at this moment.”

Ulyana’s jaw dropped at the Empress’s words. She personally held Montgomery in high regard as well, but to hear the second most powerful person in the country hold the Lord Commissar in such high standing was enough to leave her speechless. She wasn’t the only one to take note as many of the nobles stopped talking and were now focused on the Lord of Crows himself.

Shifting awkwardly under the hostile stares, Montgomery matched their disdain, “My devotion is born out of love for our Empire. Perhaps those who condemn me show whose side they truly are on.” The threat had the intended effect; the once scornful nobles quickly returned to conversations.

Enjoying Montgomery’s theatrics, Catherine once again motioned toward the pavilion. “Shall we then?”

  
  
The Lord Commissar gave a small nod. “Of course, your majesty.” He quickly leaned over to Ulyana and whispered, “Look for my signal. I am bound to overstep my position.”

Ulyana nodded, “Yes sir.” She figured mingling with such distinguished people would be a good way to gain useful information, and who knew? Maybe she could just happen to find out something that might be useful.

The Empress and Montgomery walked side by side, adorned in complementary black clothes. Her lavender-scented perfume caused him to scrunch his nose. In comparison to his slight limp, she seemed to glide gracefully across the grass. Looking forward, she spoke, “Give it to me plainly. What is the news from the front?”

“Plainly?” Montgomery asked as a familiar anger bubbled up from within, causing him to tightly grip his cane. “We have been struck blow after blow, from Gallia to Schwartzgrad, just in the last few months, yet our generals want to pretend everything is fine.” He stopped and Catherine looked at him. “I implore you to let me conduct a full investigation into our officer corp.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed. It was not the first time he had made such a request. “And what would come of such an investigation? More bodies, no doubt?” She was wary of Montgomery’s legacy of stealing power from those he felt did not share his same level of commitment to the cause.

“Let justice be done, should the sky fall,” Montgomery recited the Commissariat’s motto.

Catherine smiled in the face of such uncompromising fanaticism. “The answer is no, York. I respect your dedication, but we cannot afford the complete annihilation of our military leadership in the midst of war.”

Montgomery frowned, but didn’t protest further. They reached the small pavilion and quickly sat down across from one another. On the small glass table was a chess board and several bowls of fruit between them. Catherine took a minute to position herself appropriately while Montgomery rested his cane against his chair and set up the chess board, knowing rushing an empress was bad form.

Once she was comfortable Montgomery asked, “White or black?” It was simply a formal answer, as he fully knew what the Empress would say.

  
  
Catherine smirked and said rather poetically. “It’s only fitting that the Lord of Crows plays in darkness,” she said, spinning the board so that the white pieces were closer to her. She continued, “As my work is in the light.” Montgomery suppressed a smirk and simply nodded in agreement.

The game started simply enough with Catherine bringing out the center most pawn in front of her king. Opening with such a basic strategy, Montgomery couldn’t help but wonder if Catherine was toying with him. He decided to open with his knight to see if he could ascertain her motive.

After a few minutes of playing, Catherine, who had been stealing curious glances at Ulyana, broke the tense silence by saying, “Tell me, York. Your subordinate… Did she surrender all her claims to join you?”

“Ulyana?” Montgomery repeated, looking over at the woman in questio, who was trying to escape the advances of a drunken general. “Hmm. She did.” Without paying attention, he moved his bishop onto the wrong square.

He grimaced upon looking back, realizing his error only as his bishop was taken by Catherine’s queen. The Empress giggled at his dismay, but became serious again. “Fascinating. She must be truly an interesting woman.”

Montgomery needed to regain the momentum of his strategy. Still looking at the board, he changed the subject. “I thought you should know your son is doing quite well.” Catherine’s eyes narrowed and she grinned widely.

  
  
“Careful, Montgomery. I have no desire to be reminded of his existence.” The usage of the Lord Commissar’s first name was more of a warning than anything. “If that disappointment has any sense, he will catch a stray bullet.” Her hostility was tangible, but Montgomery’s ploy had the desired effect, and he moved his own queen into position. Seeing through his plan, the Empress quickly castled her king and Montgomery tapped his finger against the table in frustration.

Changing her tune, Catherine went back to actual conversation. “Commissar Volker’s report indicates the remnants of X-0 have been dealt with.”

“Yes. All survivors confessed to being involved in a plot against our nation,” Montgomery explained. He was too distracted to adequately match the Empress’s ability, as his mind kept drifting to Commissar Ludwig’s mission in the North. A lot was riding on securing the naval bases of the Nord Republic, and he couldn’t help but be anxious trusting such an important operation to the projects of his most tenacious rival.

“Another plot, hmm?” she mused, unconvinced. Her dark eyes fixated on his face. “And what of Ausbruch? Was it too involved in such a plot?” Not many men had been left to stand trial, but those who did met a similar fate as the survivors of X-0.

  
  
Montgomery glanced up from the board, having detected a hint of doubt in the Empress’s voice. Predictably he said, “Must I say it again? Let justice be –.”

“You have to be more subtle then that, York,” Catherine said, cutting him off. She was still watching him closely. “I can only do so much to protect your position.”

“Because this Empire is rotten to the core and filled to the brim with traitorous rats who seek to devour it,” Montgomery responded plainly, echoing Karl’s own speech in the Imperial Diet.

Catherine moved her head to one side, but it was unclear what she thought of his words. “Allow me to be clear—my husband has a problem with your actions.” She let the thought sink in before adding, “And I cannot save you from him.”

  
  
Montgomery was used to the criticisms of his zealotry but he had to be careful with his answer, considering present company. However, such restraint simply was not difficult to find for the Lord Commissar. He looked up and said, “Perhaps, then, maybe I should remind our dear Emperor that the Federation’s navy had boots on the ground in Schwartzgrad and was prepared to turn this magnificent city into a mere footnote.” His blue eyes were intense and Catherine had to look away. “We cannot simply pretend it didn’t happen. Only cowards look away from the gun pointed at their head.”

  
  
Looking out into the garden, the Empress said, “I understand that fact, York.” She ran a hand through her hair. “But surely you can appreciate the concept of discretion. If all our officers are too scared to –.”

“With all due respect, they should be frightened,” Montgomery interrupted. He was tired of seeing his Empire constantly repeat its mistakes. Catherine’s eyes narrowed at the Lord Commissar’s complete disregard for her authority. “The entire Army should feel the fear I felt when looking out over our crumbling, supposedly ‘greatest’ defensive wall.” He leaned forward, lost in the moment. “The terror my men and I felt when we were told that the greatest city on Earth was to be held hostage by a Vinnish bomb.” He held out both his hands in a grand gesture. “I will ensure through fear that no one again will threaten my Empire from within.”

  
  
Immediately realizing his slip of tongue Montgomery tried to correct himself, but Catherine started to laugh. While she would never admit it, the Empress privately admired her Lord Commissar’s conviction about his moral righteousness. Regaining herself she smiled softly, “Your Empire. There is a thought.” She didn’t seem particularly angry at the suggestion, but it didn’t stop Montgomery’s hands from shaking. “Its not your Empire, York. Even if we do greatly appreciate your dedication.” Sitting up straight again, she stopped smiling, “I am not ordering you to stop. Merely requesting some restraint.”

Montgomery knew it was better to not push his luck. He nodded, “Yes, Your Majesty.” Even though he had no attention of slowing down, as the situation was far too dire to stop now.

The Empress’s posture relaxed and she leaned back again. Her dress flowed majestically across the white wooden sofa. Softening her tone, she said, “Setting that aside for now, I would like you to investigate Earl Hambolt.” She ran her hand down one of her legs in one smooth notion.

  
  
The request caught him off guard, but slowly a smile crept to his face. “Ex-lover I presume?” His position had many uses outside of partisan suppression and the Empress regularly called on his discreet protection during her many forays from the palace.

“They just forget their place so quickly,” Catherine sighed as she reached forward and took out a small red fruit. She inspected it curiously and then popped it into her mouth.

“Hambolt, hmm?” He ran through a list of a names in his head. Eventually he was able to place the face and said, “Should I just have him roughed up? Or does your majesty prefer a more permanent solution?” Montgomery’s crooked smile made it obvious he loved his job. For once he did not need be concerned about coming up with a reason to make an arrest.

Catherine ran a finger through her hair again and chewed quietly. “His death would look bad. Send him far away from here.” A small trickle of red dripped from the corner of her mouth. She quickly dabbed it away. “That way I won’t have to read his boring love letters anymore.”

Making a face at the mention of tacit romance, Montgomery said, “I will have him stripped of titles and exiled deep into the interior.” He shivered at the thought. The idea of being so far away from society made even the Lord Commissar uncomfortable. “If your majesty so desires?”

Catherine nodded, satisfied, “Very good, York.”

They turned their attention back to the chess game. After only four more moves Montgomery found himself in checkmate and the Lord Commissar leaned back. His face was a combination of shock and amazement. Catherine looked pleased with her victory and stood up. She walked to the edge of the pavilion and stopped staring at the garden. “So, you chose to wipe out X-0, but I must ask.” She turned around to face him again. “Why spare the Lieutenants? Surely they too were complicit in the unit’s treasonous plot?”

Montgomery was caught off guard by the Empress’s question and his eyes flitted to hers. He stood up, clutching his cane. “Is it really that hard to understand? To expend so many precious resources on a project, only to retire it, is shortsighted wastefulness.” He was fully aware of his own hypocrisy but at least Nikola and Chiara were going to be utilized for his purpose before being terminated permanently.

“Out of spite toward Heinrich, then?” Catherine asked, raising an eyebrow. “So many talented men sent to their deaths, and you intervene on the behalf of those most complicit in the unit’s failure?”

“Complicit? No. The unit’s failure was a product Heinrich’s own hubris. He had already decided long ago that he harbored no loyalty to our Empire. He never intended to defend Schwartzgrad,” Montgomery said, coming to his feet. He matched the Empress’s smirk and shrugged, “And what can I say? Despite their creator’s intentions, Graf and Rocino were still the most valiant defenders of our grand city.” He stepped forward, “Klaus Waltz? Failed not once, but three separate times, and for that he should have been shot. The invalid from Gallia? Should have been vetted by my office before he was trusted with command. Rest assured, I would have had the talentless subhuman shot. The valkyria? A volatile myth that produces unreliable results. Should have never been tested in the field.”

For dramatic effect, he slammed his cane into the ground. “Yet when the Federation was on our doorstep, who was on the ground, fighting to protect this beautiful city? Chiara Rocino. Who alone stood against the enemy as the rest of her unit attempted to abandon this nation? Nikola Graf.” The Lord Commissar pointed a finger at Catherine, “Left with no hope of aid, those two in one single battle proved their worth to this Empire one thousand times over. Heinrich never did appreciate talent, which is why I believe Nikola and Chiara could have been more successful with the right direction. They truly were born to defend this great Empire.”

Catherine was taken aback by his speech and slowly clapped her hands together. She moved forward with a smile. “Sounds to me you think rather highly of both of them. Perhaps I should honor them both as Heroes of the Imperial Alliance.” Her smile turned to a sly grin. “Since my Lord Commissar himself is so quick to make right on Heinrich’s mistakes.”

Montgomery went pale at the suggestion. He realized his speech had gone too far, as he was wont to do, and he had once again allowed himself to become ensnared in the Empress’s plot to constantly keep him busy. “T-That is not necessary, your majesty. They are on an important mission.”

“Hmm. Such a change of heart.” Catherine looked at him knowingly. “Such hypocrisy to attack our former Science Director for his own shortcomings, yet you, dear York, wish to have such heroes retired anyway.” She snickered as Montgomery’s face hardened. “So predictable. No lose ends can ever be allowed, can they?”

  
  
Montgomery sighed. He should have expected his subordinate to grow a conscious at such an inconvenient time. “I take it Ludwig told you?”

Catherine smirked with a cutting smugness, “Indeed. It seems poor Ludwig still has some humanity left somewhere inside of him.” The Empress pointed at Montgomery. “So consider this an order. You will not retire such heroes. They will receive the recognition they deserve and serve this Empire until their bodies fail.”

Realizing he had been outplayed and was now ensnared in the Empress’s own web of intrigue, Montgomery quickly tugged his ear, praying Ulyana was paying attention. The Empress noticed his move, but was unconcerned. Instead, she asked, “Do you remember what you said to my husband when we first met?” Montgomery thought for a moment, drawing a blank. Catherine clarified, “Who do you serve?”

A lightbulb went off in Montgomery’s head and he instantly said, “I serve the Empire above all.” He had utter the same words nearly twenty years ago as he knelt in front of the grand Emperor, who had looked at the foreign-born Commissar with contempt.

“Even then, we couldn’t help but notice that you never said you serve the Emperor.” Catherine smiled uncannily. “So tell me, Dear York, who do you serve? The Empire or the Emperor? …Or maybe you serve only your own vision.”

  
  
Fortunately for Montgomery, he never had to answer. Ulyana had managed to escape the flirtatious advances of several drunken generals. The moment she saw Montgomery’s symbol she pushed off one of the men’s hands and made a beeline toward the pavilion. At the foot of the steps she said, “Lord Commissar. A report from Ludwig just arrived.” It was a lie, and she hoped Catherine would not look too closely at the excuse.

  
  
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Commissar Ulyana,” Montgomery said, hastily trying to escape the Empress.

  
  
As the Lord Commissar walked to his subordinate’s side and made a slight bow, Catherine glanced once more at Montgomery, then took a step forward and smiled. “You are Ulyana, yes?”

Ulyana avoided meeting the Empress’s eyes and nodded. “Yes, your majesty. Ulyana von Wolzogen.”

  
  
“ Yes, I thought I recognized you,” Catherine said, placing a finger on her cheek. She laughed behind her hand and teasingly said, “You always looked so miserable at those parties.”

  
  
Looking back back at Catherine, Ulyana found herself surprised she had warranted such a powerful woman’s attention. Even back then, the Gothia name commanded respect and admiration. “How could I not be? It was nothing but a bunch of overly sensitive men chirping about what great lineages they came from.”

Catherine seemed to nod her head in muted agreement. “Is that why you decided to forsake your father’s name and join the Commissariat?”

  
  
“I didn’t forsake anything,” Ulyana said flatly. “My father had no wish to have a daughter. At least as a Commissar I can work to help our Empire grow stronger.”

“Oh my, what a good answer,” Catherine said, seeming impressed with Ulyana’s own strength of will. “Most women feel the need to hold their tongue. It is nice to see one who feels so passionately about her purpose.”

  
  
Ulyana’s cheeks flushed again and she looked down, feeling as though she overstepped her position. Montgomery coughed and interrupted, “If that is all, Empress Gothia. We really must be leaving.”

  
  
“Oh, York. My apologies,” Catherine said, suddenly snapping back to reality. She turned to the Lord Commissar. “I almost forgot. A delegation from Vinland is arriving soon and I would like your assistance with the talks.”

Montgomery nodded, wondering why the Vinnish were coming to the heartland of autocracy. “I will get my men together.” He turned to leave. “Is that all?”

  
  
“ Yes, you may leave Lord Commissar.” Catherine said, putting both her hands together. However, before the two commissars could leave, she said, “Ulyana, would you like to join me for tea?”

  
  
Montomgery and Ulyana exchanged glances and he shrugged. He trusted his subordinate enough to not divulge any information relating to their more treasonous pursuits. Warily Ulyana glanced at the Empiress. She knew it was in poor taste to say no to such a powerful woman, and forced a smile. “I would be delighted, Your Majesty.”

  
  
Montgomery hobbled away, leaving the two women standing in the garden. Catherine watched her Lord Commissar leave with a slight smirk. She found it a great tragedy that such a capable man was so uncompromising with his beliefs. It made Montgomery a dangerous element, one that would have to eventually be addressed.

  
  
Turning to Ulyana, who was awkwardly twisting a ring on her right hand, Catherine said, “Relax, dear. I simply grow tired of being surrounded by so many men.” She held out a hand. “Please, I’d love to get to know you better.”


	5. Chapter 5

During their first tour of the camp, Nikola and Chiara had found the infirmary totally empty. As it turned out, Montgomery had failed to find a suitable physician to take it over before the operation was underway. Most injuries were handled by Gunther and his extremely limited medical training; at least until Doctor Kimura showed up one day with a signed order from Montgomery in hand. Apparently, after some convincing, the strange woman from the Far East had agreed to temporarily leave behind her clinic to assist Kriegstotcher’s operation. Despite her stilted manner of speech and tendency to self-test her own medicines, Doctor Kimura’s kind heart and gentleness made her popular with the men in the squad. She tended to wounds and even sometimes offered council to some of the men without much fuss.

The infirmary itself like all other structures in the squad’s encampment was nothing more than a small wooden square room. Inside was only three metal cots in a row against one wall, while Kimura’s poorly maintained desk sat below a small window, which allowed a bit of light into the room. However, the enigmatic doctor had taken care to ensure the small building was better insulated than the rest of the camp, even going out of her way to procure extra blankets.

  
  
Kimura watched as Chiara limped into the infirmary and sat down grumpily on one of the cots. She quietly came over and began doctoring the wound, listening to the sound of Chiara’s breathing. She took great care to clean and bandage, while also calmly talking through the entire process to ensure the injured girl didn’t become too agitated. Even as she poured the antiseptic to clean the wound, the young girl never flinched; rather, she huffed almost frustratedly, as if she were irritated to be there in the first place.

Throughout the whole affair Chiara maintained her tough exterior—after all, it was nothing more than a minor injury in her mind. Luckily the bullet had passed cleanly, leaving a relatively neat wound on her right thigh. Kimura instructed her, albeit pointlessly, not to push herself while it heals, which Chiara merely responded to with a shrug. Once the doctor concluded, she quietly left the infirmary to look for a specific plant for a concoction she was making.

Once alone, Chiara immediately moved to situate her uniform over the bandage and took a few uncertain steps around the infirmary. It didn’t hurt that badly, to her relief, just a dull ache. Without Belgar’s medicine though, she still found herself grinding her teeth to focus on something besides the soreness.

The sound of the door creaking open caused Chiara to whip around to face the door and was shocked to see Nikola standing there holding a small steaming mug. Eyes locked on one another, both girls uncomfortably stared before Nikola slowly moved toward one of the cots, and Chiara tentatively followed. Nikola’s face was blank as usual, with flakes of white snow lining her long blonde eyelashes, along with a slight redness around her pale nose.

Once reaching the cot again, Chiara leaned against it and cruelly said, “What, come here to mock me?” Her eyes instantly darted to the mug in Nikola’s hand, expecting to be on the receiving end of some malicious prank.

The words were harsher than Nikola had expected, and she winced, though the expression was gone by the time Chiara had blinked. “N-No, I’m not…” It was an uncharacteristic softness for the normally harsh girl, who had often ridiculed Chiara ruthlessly for almost any mistake. With their lives having been completely flipped upside down, though, Nikola felt tentatively hopeful that maybe their tumultuous relationship could change, too.

Chiara’s eyes narrowed as Nikola took a deep breath and shakily held out the mug toward her. “Here. Coffee,” she offered, looking away from the other girl’s accusatory stare. Though Chiara’s expression changed, as she looked completely taken aback by the display of kindness without their master there to praise them.

Cautiously, she glanced down a the black liquid in the cup, then back up at Nikola, who was watching her out of the corner of her eye. The scene repeated itself a few more times before Chiara gingerly took the cup and muttered, “Thanks, I guess.”

  
  
Slowly she moved back to her original cot and leaned against it. Nikola stared anxiously, rubbing her arm as Chiara took a sip. “I wasn’t entirely sure how to prepare it,” Nikola admitted. She had watched Gottfried make some coffee using a fire and had attempted to replicate his process.

Chiara made a face almost as soon as the strong liquid hit her tongue. “Eugh,” she groaned, sticking her tongue out. It was hopelessly bitter to the point she found her eyes watering.

As it seemed she’d made a mistake, Nikola’s face sunk, but only for a minute. Soon enough her flat exterior had returned. Sneering, she said, “What’s the matter? You going to cry?”

Chiara glared and almost threw the mug at her partner before biting back, “The only one here who will be crying is you when I’m done.” She took a step but brought her foot down a little too hard, wincing before leaning back against the cot.

Nikola sighed, realizing that they were already going to start fighting again. Quietly she walked over to the cot and took a seat on it next to Chiara, who scooted away slightly. She hesitated for a moment before finally settling on, “Listen, I am glad you didn’t die.”

In their warped minds, Nikola’s words were unexpectedly genuine and expressive. Chiara couldn’t help but look at the floor in embarrassment. Still gripping the mug, she said, “I killed so many. I just …”

Watching Chiara’s hand slowly move down to her thigh, Nikola said thoughtfully, “We completed our mission because you kept those soldiers at bay. You did a good job.”

Praise had been completely absent in their relationship for so long that Chiara froze for a moment, as if waiting for the barrage of insults to follow. When none came, she lit up at having her ability recognized. Still avoiding eye contact but smiling proudly, Chiara said, “I did, didn’t I?”

Nikola giggled and shot a hand out, knocking Chiara’s red beret onto the floor. “Don’t let it go to your head, stupid.”

  
  
“Hey!” Chiara jumped, almost spilling the drink in her hand while trying to catch her hat before it hit the floor. Carefully she knelt down with a slight grimace, trading her beret for the bitter coffee which she left resting in between their feet.

“We have to be more careful. Lord Belgar isn’t around to take care of us anymore,” Nikola said softly as she crouched down herself to take back the mug. The weight of the statement settled uncomfortably on her companion. The cruel doctor had been their sole caretaker for their entire lives; they truly were on their own now.

  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Chiara mumbled, crossing her arms angrily upon hearing Belgar’s name. She still felt bitter over what she’d learned from reading the files the doctor had kept on them. She’d been constantly afraid of being abandoned; to not only have her fear come true, but also find out later that the man who raised her had been planning to retire her all along, had been plaguing her mind any time she was alone for too long.

Nikola watched as her friend’s face morphed into a pained expression, and she tried thinking of something to lighten the mood. She opened her mouth and blurted out, “At least we match now, right?”

Chiara thought for a moment before realizing this meant they both had a bullet wound, though they were in different spots. Now both girls had a scar that had not been received through their adjustments. At the thought, her eyes widened and she started to smile again. “We do,” she snickered and cast a sideways glance at Nikola. “Don’t go getting hurt again.”

“I could say the same to you,” Nikola replied with a shrug before taking a sip of the coffee in her left hand. It tasted fine to her; she wasn’t sure what Chiara found so repulsive about it.

Seeing her partner’s befuddled look, Chiara said, “At least add some honey next time.” She had developed a taste for the sweet syrup ever since having it for breakfast back at Montgomery’s estate.

Nikola took another sip and nodded. “I will.” She stay silent for little bit before speaking again. “Trofim mentioned that you asked for Belgar’s medicine.” Chiara’s episode had troubled the engineer, and he had quietly pulled Nikola aside asking if she would be alright. Nikola had resented his concern so much that she never even answered his question and left the engineer just standing there.

Chiara started to nervously tug at the beaded strands of her hair. She took a breath, trying to relax a little before saying, “For a moment, it was… just like Schwartzgrad.” Still fidgeting, she continued, “I wasn’t strong enough back then either.”

  
  
Nikola considered her partner’s words briefly before placing a hand on Chiara’s shoulder. The younger girl jerked back instinctively at being touched. Unperturbed, Nikola inched closer and said, “That is not true, and you know it. You are far stronger than all those filthy, arrogant bastards.”

  
  
Chiara stopped moving, stunned to be praised twice in such a short amount of time. At a loss for words, she muttered to herself, “Stronger…” The acknowledgment caused such a genuine rush of intense joy that for a brief second she started to excitedly tap her thighs. The pain from her wound though quickly reminded the girl of her error, so she regained herself. She put on an air of confidence by resting a hand on her hip. “Damn right I am!” Cocking her head to one side she grinned toothily, “But I guess you are pretty good too.”

Nikola removed her hand, happy to see Chiara’s mood had improved, and started to smile herself. “Still better than you, so try not to get too uppity. I am still the best.” She pushed off from the cot and changed the subject. “Should we debrief then? I imagine Commissar Ludwig wants our report.”

  
  
Before going too far, though, she felt a hand gently grab her arm. Nikola stopped and Chiara spoke up. “Hold on, how are you holding up? We haven’t really talked since…” She trailed off, referring to their last real fight at the Lord Commissar’s estate.

Nikola considered saying something snide, but couldn’t suppress the warm feeling bubbling in her chest. She turned away, attempting to quash the sudden urge to smile, which turned into more of a grimace. “So much has changed, it all feels like a dream. Sometimes I wonder if I am going to wake up soon,” She said, then turned back to face the other girl. “I suppose I do feel better, though.”

Chiara released her partner and looked visibly relieved. “That is good hear. I was worried about you, after… you know.” Prisoners of their own mind, following the final adjustment both girls were left in a near unresponsive state. However, even through the fog that clouded her memories of the Battle of Schwartzgrad, Chiara had noticed that her only comrade in misery was preparing to do something unspeakable—all to ensure she was never going to have to suffer at the hands of Lord Belgar again.

Nikola felt a lump in her throat and shook her head. “Its not like before. The pain… it is not constant anymore, and I…”

She trailed off, but Chiara understood all too well and added, “…Feel more put together?”

Nikola offered a weak smile before shaking off the feeling and giggling behind her hand, shooting the other girl a snide look. “I really am lucky you are such an impulsive idiot.”

Chiara furrowed both eyebrows at the combination of a compliment and insult, then suddenly grinned. “Do not forget it either.”

The sound of the wooden door being pushed open caused both girls stop, and they looked over to see a tired-looking Kimura entering.

  
  
The doctor paused and said, “Ah… Am I interrupting?” Her purple eyes were glazed over and it was unclear if she was actually looking at either girl. She was a bit unsteady, and her slow body language was odd, as if she’d been testing whatever she must have found in the woods.

  
  
“No, we were just leaving,” Nikola said, heading for the door. Chiara followed, leaving the doctor in the room.

\---

Commissar Ludwig was sitting at the briefing table when the two girls walked into the headquarters building. The pencil in his hand made a scratching noise as he made notes for the upcoming operation. He had been anxiously tapping his foot against the hard wooden floor absentmindedly, awaiting their arrival. His black coat was hung loosely over his shoulders and pile of cigarettes had collected next to his feet. Upon hearing the door open, he stood up and nodded as they entered, noticing Chiara’s bandaged leg.

  
  
Without missing a beat, he picked up a manila folder which was resting on the table in the center of the room. “Should we begin?” he offered, prompting Nikola and Chiara to anxiously go over the major events of their first mission. Debriefing was a rather straightforward affair as Nikola took over most of the talking, though not without Chiara reminding her of a few details. The spotting of a possible Vinnish convoy caused Karl’s stone-faced exterior to change and he made a note on the report. Nikola also took time to read off the list of supplies requested by the Loyalists.

It was the enthusiastic recount of the prison break which had freed Ulf, though, that impressed Karl the most. To take on a whole encampment of enemy troops in a reckless plan and not suffer a single causality exceed his expectations. He made sure to write a summary of the events, and for good measure, requested a body count from both girls who were all too happy to oblige.

Thinking that their questioning had concluded, Chiara asked excitedly, “Did we do a good job, Commissar Ludwig?” He raised his eyebrow, taken aback by the girl’s demeanor. It surely must’ve been the first time a subordinate asked him such a question, and a familiar feeling of warm bewilderment crawled into his mind. It was endearing, if not depressing, to even see Nikola smiling ever so slightly alongside Chiara’s own.

  
  
“Yes, Agent Rocino. You did well,” he settled on finally, watching the two brighten at the praise. He forced a small smile and straightened up. “I will be heading back to the Capital soon. I trust you both can handle everything from here?” He looked from one girl to the other.

  
  
Nikola opened one of the four folders laying on the map. “These are our guidelines, yes?” She flipped through them while Chiara looked over her shoulder. Their body language was more confident and it was obvious that completing phase one had helped their morale immensely.

“Yes. Stick to the plan and everything should go smoothly,” Karl said, walking over to the table. He tapped his finger against it and added, “But do not be afraid to go off script if you see an opportunity.” He hated to admit it, but leaving the two girls on their own worried him. However, he did believe the best way for them to learn would be on their own.

“What about the sightings of a possible valkyria?” Nikola asked, remembering their earlier conversion. She looked over at Karl, who’s face had changed. A deep line had formed above his brow and he was suddenly very serious. Chiara stopped smiling and crossed her arms looking at the commissar expectantly.

Karl scratched his head in thought. The wrinkles on his brow made him look older, more tired. He closed his eyes. “Yes. That is a troublesome variable. When I get back to the Capital, I will speak to Montgomery.” Nikola could not help but notice he hadn’t really given them an answer. She bit her thumb nail and then removed her beret, placing it on the table in front of her. She fluffed her poorly cut hair and sighed.

  
  
Chiara clenched her fists in frustration. “But what are we suppose to do if we do run into one?” Her voice shook slightly, and it was obvious she was trying to suppress her fear of having to face one of the wonder weapons in earnest.

Karl chose his words carefully, speaking in a measured tone. “You both have experience working with valkyria, correct? Act accordingly.” It was still not an answer, but both girls straightened up at the remark.

Nikola came to her partner’s side and gently rested a hand against Chiara’s wrist, whose hands relaxed. “We managed one, yes, but…” Nikola answered, trailing off and looking at Chiara for a better explanation.

  
  
“Its not comparable. Ours was defective and complete wet blanket,” Chiara said, eye twitching. Karl listened intently with his hand on his chin. “Even then she had enough power to sink a Federation Snowcruiser.”

  
  
The man’s eyes flitted down at the report in front of him and he hummed in thought. He ruminated briefly on the paralyzing purge that occurred within the Commissariat following the loss at Seigval, known in internal records as the Night of Talons. The purge had debilitated the organization all while X-0 had bumbled through some half-hearted defense against an enemy who had managed to practically saunter into the Capital.

Taking the Commissar’s distracted silence as him not being convinced, Nikola spoke up, “Colonel Bles would not even allow us to observe a test of Crymaria’s power. We did not need to though, the racket those two made was loud enough for us to see the aftermath.” She learned forward, locking eyes with Karl, “There was nothing left of that testing ground. We will not survive if we are expected to engage a valkyria.”

Karl looked at them both and stood up to pace in thought. He could tell both girls were anxiously awaiting his response, so he said, “The Commissariat is fully aware. We confiscated the full mission report about those tests.” It was a rather bureaucratic answer that did little alleviate Nikola and Chiara’s understandable fears.Pausing next to the door, he moved his head to one side, studying both girls. “X-0 has been dissolved. Your mission has nothing to do with engaging a valkyria. If one is encountered and your men’s lives are at risk, withdraw immediately.”

Both girls’ looked visibly relieved at his order, but quickly frowned once more.

  
  
“And what happens to us if we withdraw?” Nikola spoke up, feeling Chiara press close to her side. She gripped Chiara’s wrist lightly in reassurance.

Karl looked at the confused at first, held up his hand as he realized their concern. “If anything, I am held responsible for this mission.” He shrugged and waved his hand. “Chain of command and all that. Whatever happens will wind up being my burden.” Both girls relaxed immediately but warily eyed the Commissar.

“So. you won’t punish us?” Chiara asked tentatively, still not convinced. She continued to lean into Nikola but soon they separated.

“No, that would not be conductive to the mission,” Karl said, trying to ease their worries. He thought back to their files, remembering what they were probably expecting should they fail. The idea of what happened to them left a bad taste in his mouth, as well as what awaited them should they succeed in their missions. Karl wasn’t one to typically question Montgomery’s decisions, but he might have finally found his limit.

“Alright then,” Chiara said, which snapped Karl out of his internal turmoil, then turning and walking to the door. “Now I have to find that damned engineer and make him run till he pukes.” Nikola giggled as her friend left the building, leaving her alone with Karl. The tired Commissar walked back to the table and started sifting through several papers.

Nikola stayed silent and watched the Commissar, unsure if it was appropriate to speak to him about something not strictly mission related. Despite the familiarity of the work, so much of what she was experiencing was brand new, Commissar Ludwig’s approach to command included. He was practically a stranger, yet he was reassuring and patient with them; he had yet to even threaten her or Chiara, which made her hesitate. Perhaps he might answer her question, despite how ridiculous it was.

Realizing his subordinate was still lingering, Karl looked up from the papers and asked, “Is there something else on your mind?”

Nikola stared at him as her mind went completely blank. She started to fidget awkwardly and stuttered, “Um, well…” Frustrated, she grimaced at her own inability to speak.

Karl looked at her in confusion but waited patiently for her to explain. After some more struggling, she finally forced out the question, “Commissar Ludwig, do you love someone?” Nikola felt her face redden as she realized she blurted it out. It felt so alien to say, and she stared at the floor, waiting for him to laugh or dismiss her stupid question.

However, when Nikola glanced up, she saw that Karl’s face had softened considerably. “Yes, I do,” he answered. Even though his eyes were gentle, his tone was guarded.

Nikola wasn’t sure what she had expected the Commissar to say. She wouldn’t have dreamed of ever asking such a ridiculous question during her time with X-0. However, the words of the blonde Federation soldier had left Nikola questioning what it really meant, to love someone. Cautiously, she watched Karl’s face and asked,“How did you… know? That you were in love.”

The Commissar scratched his chin as if unsure about the line of questioning. “If I answer, will you be able to better focus on the mission at hand?” A mechanical question, but Nikola nodded hastily. Karl sighed and continued, “I suppose in my case it was when I couldn’t fathom being alive without them.”

  
  
Nikola’s face grew serious and looked away, mumbling to herself. “Lord Belgar…” She crossed her arms as the uncomfortable, uncertain feeling returned that always seemed to plague her as she was still coming to terms with the doctor’s death.

  
  
“Do not confuse fear for love,” Karl said suddenly, snapping Nikola out of her thoughts. The tired Commissar’s eyes were serious once more, and he thought carefully over how to elaborate. “To coerce someone through physical harm isn’t love, it is submission.” He waited for the words to sink in, watching the minute expression on the girl’s face shift, before adding, “Love is an organic feeling, one that is cultivated through years of trust and companionship. It shouldn’t make you feel afraid.”

  
  
Nikola stayed silent for a long time, mulling over his words. She couldn’t say for certain she completely understood, but part of what Karl said reassured her on how she felt towards Chiara. Cautiously she looked up. “And how do you… show someone you love them?”

Karl walked over to her side of the table and leaned against it. The small girl barely came up to the top his chest, and she took a step back to be able to look at him properly. He put a hand on his chin and said, “That would depend on the person in question. Most people buy gifts for each other.” He wasn’t entirely sure what his subordinate was even really looking for in his answers.

  
  
Nikola looked confused at the suggestion. “A gift?”

“Sentimental gestures can work, too. The meaning behind it is what counts.” Karl couldn’t help but find the situation funny, discussing love with the violent agent. Slowly his face changed, her reason for asking only finally hitting him. “Wait, is this about Agent Rocino?"

  
  
Nikola’s periwinkle eyes flitting toward the wall and she gave a slight nod. “For a long time, I couldn’t stand being in the same room with her,” she said, balling up her hands into fists but keeping them at her sides. “Chiara is so frustrating to work with. She’s impulsive, stubborn, and a moron.” Karl raised an eyebrow at the barrage of insults. Nikola sighed and meekly added, “Yet shes the only friend I have ever had. She’s the only person who knows what it was really like…” She trailed off, though her meaning was clear.

Seeing how hard Nikola was trying, Karl rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Listen, I know for a fact that Chiara feels the same way about you.”

  
  
Nikola looked into Karl’s brown eyes, which despite his kind words still seemed exhausted and deadened. She shifted uncomfortably and spoke quietly, “I hated her. She should have died. We both were supposed to. Even then, she bothered to come back for me…” The stoic girl looked up, resolute. “I want to show her how much she means to me.”

Karl stood up again and walked back toward the desk. Facing away, he said, “Well, you lived with her all your life. Surely during that time you’ve figured out some things about her.”

Nikola looked completely taken aback at the suggestion. She couldn’t think of a single thing that Chiara might like. She shook her head dejectedly. Opportunities to talk between the two had been few and far between, as Belgar had cultivated a rivalry between them. Mostly they’d gotten adept at insulting one another.

  
  
Karl sighed at her reaction. “How about this—does she have a favorite food?” It felt like a simple enough question to him, although he wasn’t entirely sure at this point if the girls had even been allowed to eat normally under Heinrich’s observation.

Nikola started to bite her cheek in thought before answering, “She… really liked that honey, I think. When we ate waffles.”

Karl hummed and crossed his arms. He figured he shouldn’t be surprised, though her answers continued to confirm the image in his head of how they were raised. “So she likes sweet things? That opens up some options.” He looked at the blonde girl expectantly. “Anything else?”

  
  
Nikola honestly tried to wrack her brain as hard as she dared and to her annoyance came up totally blank. She shook her and softly said, “I guess not…”

Karl could tell the thought bothered her greatly, and he tried to be comforting. “You are being far too hard on yourself.” He reached into his pocket, feeling around for his cigarettes while thinking. “If you’re not sure, try something simple. Being kind when you could be mean might help.”

Nikola wrung her hands and thought it over. “Like… not insulting her when I could? I could bring her sweetened coffee next time, too, maybe...” she began muttering to herself.

Karl shrugged. “Perhaps the easiest way to let her know is just to try to get along. It’s worth a shot, don’t you suppose?” He had been digging for his lighter and finally lit his cigarette. He took a drag and could’ve sworn the muted expression on the girl’s face was a pout.

“I guess,” she finally settled on before nodding and heading for the door. Karl watched as she paused in front of the door.

The girl finally turned to face him once more. “The person you love. Do they know how you feel?” she asked quickly, as if the words wouldn’t come out unless she forced them.

  
  
Karl took another long drag and considered not answering the question. Instead, though, he nodded slowly. “I would give my life for them, and they know it. I have already given them the rest of my life—I wouldn’t be here today if they hadn’t saved me,” he answered honestly, though still a bit vague. “It’s because we trust each other that I know my feelings are understood. That’s the part that takes time, trust, but it’s the most important one.”

Nikola stared at him for a moment. “Trust…” She tilted her head, and eventually the corners of her mouth pulled into a small smile. “Thank you, Commissar Ludwig.” She opened the door and slipped out without another word.

Karl was grateful to finally be alone. He finished the cigarette and flicked it to the ground, extinguishing it with his shoe. After interacting with the two girls firsthand, he found himself incapable of treating them like weapons as Montgomery had insisted. Despite the nature of his job, he found the idea of decommissioning them to leave him with a sense of nausea. “Maybe it’s time to retire,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

\---

The republican encampment was in disarray following Kriegstotcher’s attack. Surviving soldiers ran to and fro, trying to get a handle on the situation. Severely wounded men were being loaded onto trucks to be transported to a republican field hospital in Lowerholm. Several officers in tandem with a handful advisers from the Federation were interrogating survivors for information about the attackers. During the chaotic scene, nobody paid any particular attention to the unmarked green jeep as it pulled up to the scene. After a moment, a man dressed civilian clothes climbed out the passenger seat while a heavily armed soldier jumped out of the back of the vehicle.

The soldier wore green fatigues which were covered by a long brown wool coat, and a side cap which was titled at a slight angle. Across his chest was a belt of red, blue, and green shells for his weapon: the impressive, yet illegal, trench gun. Weapons of its same class had been outlawed by the participants of the First War as it was considered to cause undue suffering. The gun was almost as long as the soldier himself with its jagged bayonet and a wooden stock on, which had been carved with the phrase: _This machine kills tyrants._ One could tell by looking at it that it was heavily worn from years of service; around various continents across the world, from covert battlefields in jungles of the Far East, to the scorching deserts of the Southern hemisphere. Specialist Theodore Irving of the Vinnish Intelligence Service was used to the chaos of the battlefield, and calmly walked behind the finely dressed an.

Who in contrast exuded a cold indifference to the carnage surrounding them. He slowly walked around, surveying the scene with dead gray eyes. Unlike the soldier in his company, who was providing security, the second man wore a finely-made brown, olive, and dark gray pinstripe suit. A white armband denoted him as a non-combatant, although it only took one look to know he was as dangerous as any soldier.

He stopped at a body and knelt down, removing a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket. The soldier had been impaled through the sternum by one of Chiara’s bolts; it seemed he had tried to pull the bolt out before succumbing. The aged man looked at the body curiously, then pulled out a pair of medical gloves from his coat pocket. He poked the dead soldier, looking for any other wounds. After concluding the bolt was the cause of death, he began to knowingly chuckle to himself.

  
  
He gripped the bolt and pulled hard, which gave way with a distinct squelch. Disinterested with the state of the corpse, he studied the bolt itself. A thin unsettling smile crawled across the pale man’s gray lips and muttered to himself, “How fortuitous.”

“Something I should know, Professor?” Irving’s tone was notably hostile, and it was obvious he clearly loathed the man he was charged with guarding.

Holding out the bolt, he answered, “Perhaps. Do we have any information about the attackers?” The professor’s voice was smooth, concealing of his true intentions.

Irving took the bolt and tested the weight in his hand. It seemed like an impractical choice of weapon for modern war in his eyes. “We intercepted a republican radio communication that indicated a very small Imperial squad. Apparently they crashed right through the front door and retreated after securing a prisoner without further engagement.” He studied the vial at the tip. “The man on the radio was screaming about two small girls, barely five feet tall.” Irving looked away the bolt and focused intensely on the kneeling man’s face, “It wouldn’t so happen that this was the package promised to us?”

“It’s entirely possible,” The silver-haired man said, standing up. “It was my masterpiece, so I have no doubt it was capable of doing such damage.” He smiled coldly.

  
  
Irving’s eyes narrowed as a distinct line of disgust formed on his face. “So the weapon you promised us was actually a living girl, Professor McDonnell?” He was overwhelmed with the urge to simply kill the disgusting man and finish this nonsense. “Not even a valkyria … just a regular soldier?” The thought of a children being forced to fight filled the idealistic man with an intense rage. It was Irving’s troubling idealism that had, in part, led Vinnish High Command to consider giving him a dishonorable discharge. He held firmly that dictatorship and monarchy alike needed to cease to exist entirely, even going so far to claim the Federation compromised its supposed ideals by allowing constitutional monarchies to exist with in it.

McDonnell smiled at the hostility, fully aware of Irving’s resentment. “Regular soldier? Hardly. Nikola follows orders without fail and it has been adjusted to be better the a perfect soldier.” When it was clear that Irving might throttle him, he smoothly added. “Specialist Irving, consider this an opportunity. I feared it was lost to me forever. Recapture it, and the United States is free to use it as it sees fit.”

Irving looked unconvinced. “But there were two of them. Who is the second?”

  
  
McDonnell waved his hand dismissively. “Every good scientist makes a few mistakes before perfecting their experiment. Chiara is nothing more then vestigial. Dispose of that one with haste.”

Irving considered McDonnell’s dehumanizing language reprehensible. He took a step forward and said, “Too bad those useless Rangers got cold feet. They should have wiped Schwartzgrad off the map and spared me the unfortunate job of looking at your repugnant face.”

McDonnell put his hands in his pockets, totally at ease. “Whatever your opinion is of me, Specialist Irving, are you prepared to handle the asset?” He had an unsettling enthusiasm caged behind his toneless words. “I am quite excited to see if my alterations will improve its performance.”

“Your research is abominable,” Irving bit back, as he cared little for the science of war. “It taints our country’s noble principles and puts us in the same league as the barbarian nations. You should be hanged for your crimes.”

  
  
McDonnell couldn’t help but appreciate Irving’s passion and allowed the threat to roll off his back. “Maybe one day I will.” He took step forward calmly. “Unfortunate for you, there is only one man capable of hanging me. Rest assured, he will hesitate as he always has.” Irving looked confused by the statement and the professor put a hand on his shoulder. “I will be joining our delegation to the Empire, so please do cooperate with Claire. If something goes wrong, I have a feeling I will know.”

Irving jerked his arm away from the Professor’s cold unfeeling hand. “Very well, McDonnell.” He left without another word, kicking snow up as he walked away.

“Oh, and Specialist Irving. Please do make an effort to reclaim my creation,” McDonnell said with a smile while watching Irving leave, but the soldier didn’t respond further. The professor took a deep breath and mumbled to himself, “To think, this how you will return to me. Well, at the very least this should serve as a useful variable in the test.” He couldn’t help but consider himself lucky and was excited to see what the future held.

He walked back toward the still running jeep and entered. “Prepare VK0 for transport,” McDonnell said to his assistant sitting across from him.

  
  
“Yes, sir,” His young blonde assistant said as she made a note on her clipboard before pulling vehicle away.


	6. Chapter 6

Karl left for the capital with little fanfare after leaving the latest intelligence reports with Nikola and Chiara. He figured even if he could not be present, up-to-date information would be the best way to protect both girls. The moment the crow had left, Nikola and Chiara ordered Kriegstotcher to make preparations for the coming operation.

On paper, Kriegstotcher was a counter-terrorism unit under the direct control of Montgomery York. It had no affiliation with the army, and as such, didn’t even technically answer to the Emperor. A consequence of being such a clandestine unit was the notable lack of firepower. Kriegstotcher had no heavy armaments such as artillery, and didn’t even have a light tank at its disposal.

  
  
To supplement this lack of armor, Montgomery had pulled in a favor from a private industrialist who agreed with the Lord Commissar’s personal vision for the Empire. York contracted him to construct several mechanized half-tracks which would be suitable for Northern conditions. Such vehicles would allow Kriegstotcher to focus on quick surgical strikes and theoretically avoid becoming bogged down in the changing environment of the region. With snow in mind, the front wheels of the vehicles could be placed on metal sleds to improve mobility on ice.

There were four half-tracks in total. Two of them served as troop transports, mounted with a heavy machine gun, codenamed the C-Z46; it was actually a crude imitation of the Ruhm from the Emperor’s personal arsenal, which had been produced in secret on the Lord Commissar’s orders. He requested a support machine gun which would be able to provide suppressive fire and supplement Kriegstotcher’s lack of firepower. Internally, it bore some similarities to the weapon it was copied from, utilizing the same 7.92 mm caliber cartridge and gas-operated reloading system. However, the C-Z46 possessed a slower rate of fire, at only around five-hundred rounds per minute, making it easier to control when firing at a distance. It also lacked a drum magazine, which was replaced with two fifty-five round detachable box magazines that were slightly cheaper and far easier to produce. In tandem with a finned barrel and telescopic scope, the imitation was more than capable of engaging targets at range.

The other two half-tracks were unique in purpose, each fulfilling a different role. The first, nicknamed “Motherland,” was a heavy-armored variant of the troop transports and could be crewed by six men. Its primary armament were two duel-barrel VB model flamethrowers, which were relics from the first war. The extra armor also served to protect the large fuel tanks in the floor of the vehicle that fed the gas required to spit out blue flame. Sustained burning was impossible, though, as the barrels of the weapons were made with sub-par steel and ran the risk of melting.

  
  
Finally, the last vehicle served as a mobile anti-tank weapon nicknamed “Fist of the Emperor.” Entirely experimental, combining the immobile platform of the standard Imperial Panzerabwehrkanone with the Mustala-made D-25S 43/122mm, a variant of the same gun loaded onto the Jubatas heavy tank. The sheer size of the gun meant it inherited all the same weaknesses, and the half-track crew actually had to make sure to fix the entire vehicle in place before firing, lest they risk permanently damaging the structure.

Even with such impressive armaments, Kriegstotcher still had to wait for Ulf to make contact; the Nordic Civil War was to be the perfect cover for the unit’s more insidious operation. In the meantime, Nikola and Chiara took their anxiety about the coming operation out on their men, running an increasingly irrational amount of training drills in preparation to move out. Both girls had never been allowed to rest, even once well past their physical limits. They also incorrectly assumed the same of their men.

That is how the soldiers of Kriegstotcher found themselves early in the morning, standing at attention in the bitter morning chill for another set of drills. Among them were mixed reactions. Fedor stood in line with a rather unimpressed look on his face, mumbling incessantly to himself while rolling a rosary in his hand. Even after Kimura had insisted he needed to rest after their last mission, the zealot had refused outright and immediately requested a return to active duty. Nikola and Chiara had obliged, seeing no reason why the man should bother to rest.

Next to him was Sorina, who stood with her shoulders slumped. She’d been interrupted by Chiara’s yelling in the middle of her morning routine, having been unable to finish changing the bandages that cover her burns. It was irritating, and she was tense as she struggled not to scratch at the exposed scarring underneath her sleeves. Siegward, on the other hand, despite being roused in an unglamorous way by Nikola after she pushed him out of his cot, still managed to look well-put together. His long black hair blew gently in the wind, though it wasn’t as neat as he would have liked. Aside from the fact he looked about ready to kill someone, it was impossible to tell he had been sleeping soundly only an hour ago.

Last but not least was Gottfried, who hadn’t actually been sleeping, but was working diligently in the canteen to prepare a meal for the entire unit. He had heard the yelling, and simply slipped into line before he was missed.

Nikola stopped in front of the band of outcasts and squinted, peering at the men’s faces. With a look of disgust she asked curtly, “Where is Engineer Trofim?”

“So that is why that obnoxious chirping in my ear is gone today…” Siegward muttered, as if just realizing the engineer was absent.

Abruptly, Fedor stopped his mumbling and addressed Nikola. “Trofim stepped out this morning.” He didn’t elaborate further, instead returning to his prayer.

  
  
Chiara’s face contorted into a frown. “Oh, did he?” She came over to the priest and leaned over to glare up at him, almost looking straight up the man’s nose. “Oi!” She said, but the man’s eyes remained closed. She crossed her arms and demanded, “Where is he?”

  
  
Fedor ignored her entirely, so Gottfried coughed, causing everyone to glance at him. He stood at attention still, but looked over at them. “We all came to this unit through unfortunate circumstances. Our engineer is no exception.”

Nikola looked unimpressed and crossed her arms. “So what? He is just trying to get out of training.” She stamped her foot and barked, “You will tell us where he is!”

“Motor Pool,” Sorina offered blandly.

  
  
Gottfried nodded in agreement. “No doubt, Motor Pool.”

  
  
“He already practically lives there. You two should pay more attention,” Siegward said snidely, concurring with his companions.

“Quiet, you.” Chiara ordered, coming back to Nikola’s side.

Nikola looked at the line of men and shouted, “Take ten!” Turning back to Chiara, she started to giggle. “I guess we will have to punish him.”

  
  
The two volatile girls walked off toward where the vehicles were hidden, leaving the men alone in the center of camp. Gottfried scratched his beard in thought. “They aren’t going to kill him, right? Be a shame.”

  
  
“Commissar Ludwig said if they kill any of the men in this unit, he would personally have them relieved of command,” Siegward said with a shrug. “I imagine, given the way they both act, that doesn’t bode well for either of them.”

  
-

The four half-tracks were parked underneath a camouflage net behind the main barracks. Three half-tracks, the two troop transports and the Motherland, boasted a white and blue camouflage, allowing them to blend into the brutal winter landscape. The fourth half-track was open-topped and painted in white, though its carry capacity was limited due to the size of the anti-tank gun. It allowed for fast movement and was only manned by three men, including a driver. It was quickly ruled out that the engineer was hiding in it as they peered around the vehicle.

Observantly, Nikola pointed to the next vehicle, which had a small noticeable trail of smoke coming up from within the half-track.

Chiara gritted her teeth and banged her fist against the vehicle. “Oi, moron! We know you are in there!” The trail of smoke immediately dissipated, and the area fell silent.

  
  
Nikola sighed and rolled her eyes. “Guess we are dragging him out.” The two girls easily dropped the hatch of the vehicle and were engulfed with a cloud of gray smoke. They coughed and sputtered as the smoke burned their throats. The concentrated smog left their eyes watering, causing Chiara’s red eyeliner to smear.

Gunther’s pale face poked out of the vehicle, and it was easy to tell something was slightly off about him. He was clearly sleep deprived, with heavy dark bags under his eyes, and it seemed as though he wasn’t really focused on anything in particular. However, despite his disheveled appearance, upon seeing Nikola and Chiara he managed to force an upbeat tone to say, “Wow, room service? All the way out here?”

  
  
Chiara’s temper flared. She grabbed the man by his collar, dragging him out onto the ground and shoving him into the snow. Instinctively she punched downward, but Nikola’s hand shot out to catch her partner’s hand. The blonde girl gave her friend a rather bland look. “Commissar Ludwig was clear.”

Chiara frowned and jerked her arm away. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Right, right.” Instead, she pushed her foot into the engineer’s side. “Stupid. What do you think you are doing?”

  
  
Gunther lay motionless on the snow. Nikola knelt down, starting to prod the back of his head with her finger. “Are you really going to try playing dead? How stupid are you?”

  
  
After another minute, Gunther pushed himself into a sitting position and wiped the snow from his face. He grabbed his hat, which had fallen off, and spinning on one finger said, “Sorry. I guess I lost track of time.”

  
  
Nikola stared at him. “Is that really your excuse?” Her eyebrow twitched slightly.

“Sure,” Gunther shrugged, pushing himself off the ground. He wiped the snow off the front of his pants.

  
  
“Ehehe, I guess we better punish you then,” Chiara said with an ominous grin, cracking her knuckles. She looked to see if the engineer was appropriately afraid of what might be coming.

  
  
To both girls’ frustration, Gunther shrugged half-heartedly, not looking at either of them. “Alright. Whatever you think is necessary.”

Nikola’s eyes narrowed as she stood up. Smirking, she added, “We could break your arms, or… maybe use you as target practice.”

  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Gunther replied, putting both hands into his pockets.

“Huh?” Both girls stared at him in annoyance and disbelief.

  
  
“Come on! Aren’t you even a little scared of us!?” Chiara demanded, stomping her foot.

  
  
“Terrified, boss,” he said as he turned away, walking back to camp.

  
  
“Hey! Don’t walk away from us!” Nikola shouted, but the engineer was already ignoring her again.

-

Nikola sat in the snow, resting her chin on her hand. She watched in boredom as Chiara shouted incessantly at Gunther, who was being forced to do push ups. As it turned out, the engineer was really too absent to care about whatever punishment they tried. His lack of his response was beyond frustrating, but Chiara was determined to make him crack.

  
  
However, even the hot-headed girl was starting to lose her interest in carrying out an appropriate punishment. There was no pleasure to be had in someone who wouldn’t respond. Nikola sighed and stood up. “Chiara, I am done.”

  
  
“Well, I am not!” Chiara shouted back before placing a boot onto Gunther’s back. “That’s sixty! Only two-hundred more, idiot!”

  
  
“Aye aye, boss,” Gunther said, methodically going through the routine. Dryly he added, “It’s so nice we can spend time together like this.”

  
  
"Keep it up and you will be here all night!” Chiara warned him, trying to press all her weight down onto the man. She barely weighed seventy pounds, though, so it really didn't do much.

  
  
Nikola rolled her eyes and turned around to see Siegward standing behind them, watching the whole spectacle with a bemused look on his face. She walked over to the fencer and asked, “What do you find so funny?”

  
  
"You two really don’t get it," Siegward said in his typical arrogant tone.

Normally Nikola might have punched him, but Karl had given them both orders. Instead, she crossed her arms and bit back, “And what do we not get?”

Siegward rubbed the back of his neck and paused before responding, in an attempt to avoid insulting his commander outright. In the end he couldn't avoid it, responding, “You two are frightfully simple-minded. I cannot fathom Commissar Ludwig’s logic of leaving you both in charge.” Nikola’s eyes twitched and she balled her fists in her sleeves. Before she could say anything, though, the fencer continued, “Doesn’t Trofim seem off to you? Or are both of you really so oblivious to others' emotions?”

  
  
Nikola looked back at Gunther, who did indeed seem completely distracted, even with Chiara yelling into his ear. But it wasn’t like the cold girl really knew what to think about it. Putting both hands on her hips, she matched Siegward’s cold stare. “What is your point? He's part of this machine. If he doesn’t participate, the whole unit suffers.”

"Such a shortsighted understanding of leadership,” Siegward said with a smug air about him. He gestured at Gunther flippantly and explained, “Trofim’s optimism, no matter how insufferable it may be, helps the morale of this unit greatly. Punishing him when he's in such a sorry state does more to harm the confidence of these men than his insubordination.”

Nikola clicked her tongue. “So what? If we don’t punish him, he will just disobey orders again.” She hated getting lectured by the nobleman. The feeling of being talked down to was grating on her nerves. If it weren't for their orders, she'd have been happy to flog him.

  
  
"He will most certainly do it again, even if you do punish him,” Siegward said plainly, running a hand hand through his hair. “I don’t know what hellish unit you served with before this one, and frankly, I really don’t care. But if you want to earn the right to lead this one, then I advise you to let this transgression go and discipline Trofim later.”

  
  
Nikola stared at him blankly and started to bite her lower lip, mulling over his words. Frankly, it wasn't as if they had particularly good experiences leading men. The more she thought about it, the more the fencer's words made sense, to her annoyance. “Fine,” she deadpanned. She left the swordsman standing there and returned to her partner. “Chiara, let's go. We are done.”

  
  
"What!? Why?” Chiara demanded, clearly shocked.

  
  
"Don’t argue. We are finished here,” Nikola said, raising her voice.

Chiara huffed and removed her foot from Gunther’s back. “What is with you?”

  
  
"Come on,” Nikola said, ignoring her partner's objections. Without further explanation, she began walking back to camp.

Gunther stood up and massaged his arms. “Are we done, boss?”

  
  
"Yeah, sure,” Chiara grumbled, stomping off behind Nikola.

  
  
Gunther looked over at Siegward, who offered a small nod before leaving himself. The engineer sighed in relief and returned to the Motor Pool to continue his own brooding.

-

With further drills postponed for the day, Nikola slipped back into one of many old habits from the Magnus, returning to the Motor Pool. Instead of harassing the depressed engineer this time, she decided to sit in a nearby set of bushes and spy on him instead. Siegward had stopped her from disciplining the engineer, citing Gunther’s very obvious change in mood. She had been so taken aback by the nobleman’s lecture that she was determined to understand what had gotten into Kriegstotcher’s engineer. That is where she found herself now, crouched in the snow as she watched the half-track, which had another trail of smoke coming up from inside.

  
  
Thanks to her training, Nikola had a near-infinite amount of patience. But after three hours of not so much as even a sound, she was starting to wonder if Gunther must have died. The sun was even starting to set, and she was just about ready to give up when the crunching of snow caused her to look up. It was none other than Fedor, walking rather slowly in the snow as if he was counting his steps. The priest’s bald head was shiny as if he had just washed it, but Nikola’s eyes were drawn downward to the bottle in his hand.

  
  
A half-full bottle of vodka, most likely produce somewhere near Schwartzgrad, was in his possession. Fedor stopped outside of the back of the vehicle and gently knocked against the ramp, waiting patiently. The hatched drop and an expressionless Gunther poke his head out. The two men started talking and Nikola crept closer to the front of the half-track to see if she could hear anything worth reporting to Karl.

  
  
"Allow this to ease your troubles, son," Fedor said, offering the bottle to the engineer.

  
  
Gunther raised an eyebrow at him, and maybe the idea of the priest of all people offering it to him, but the gesture caused him to smile. “But Father, I thought the church condemned drinking?”

  
  
Fedor didn’t laugh. Instead, deadly serious as always, he said, “I have committed scores of sins. What is one more in the eyes of God?”

"Fair logic." Gunther took the bottle with a shrug and the two men sat down at the foot of the vehicle. Nikola watched as the engineer took a swig and grimaced slightly as he drank. She had watched Lord Belgar occasionally drink bourbon, but it wasn’t like she or Chiara had ever been allowed to taste it. She could only assume it must taste foul. Looking at the bottle, Gunther said, “Very strong. I like it.”

He passed it to Fedor, who took a drink as well, while still holding his prayer beads in his other hand. “I have had that bottle ever since our armies were brought to a halt outside of Montigny.” The battle he was referencing marked a change in the war; the Federation had finally halted the Empire’s nonstop advance after nearly a month of intense city fighting, where the two powers were locked in a death struggle. The end result was the withdrawal of Imperial forces to a new defensive line, losing forty kilometers of ground they had only recently gained.

“Is that so?” Gunther mused, taking the bottle again. He held it in hand and exhaled. “A buddy of mine was at Montigny. He seemed pretty convinced this war is over.” He glanced at the chaplain, eyebrow raised. “How about you?”

  
  
Fedor nodded solemnly. “Our commanders naively believed the Federation would just roll over and die in the face of our superiority.” He shook his head solemnly and continued in a bitter tone, “Fools, all of them. Just as we defend our motherland, the Federates fight to defend theirs.” He gestured vaguely, making a square. “Gottfried and myself, our squad was tasked with securing a single apartment complex. We hadn’t even made it to the third floor before most of us met with the Lord.”

Gunther chuckled bleakly. “I guess that explains how we managed to lose Siegval so easily.” He took another swig. “Tell me, Father. Does God condone this war? Does he praise the mass murder committed in his name and all the suffering it’s created?”

Fedor was quick to answer. “God has nothing to do with this creation of man. He condones nothing, but merely watches, disappointed with his children.” The chaplain shook his head and said, “You are not a religious man, Trofim. I will not preach further to you.”

  
  
“Then why are you here?” The Nord replied. He was already feeling slightly better, if only because of the drink in his hand. “Surely not because you are worried about the soul of a sinner like myself?”

  
  
Fedor looked like he might laugh, but Nikola failed to understand what was so funny. “I have no hope for any of the lost souls of this squad—from our corrupted commanders to your own repulsive, hedonistic attitude.” Nikola winced at the reminder; Chiara had tried talking to her about souls one night, and the idea just left her feeling uneasy. Poking her head to get a better look, the stoic girl watched as Fedor put a hand on Gunther’s shoulder. “But that is what it is. Right now I can tell you are troubled, and it would be a betrayal of my duty to not offer council.”

“Council, huh?” Gunther looked down at the dirt and put the bottle of vodka down. Drinking any further with the possibility of full-scale operations starting soon was probably a bad idea. To Nikola’s frustration, though, the engineer leaned close and spoke inaudibly to the chaplain, who listened passively. When Gunther was finished, there was a heavy silence between the two men.

Speaking normally again, Fedor finally said, “War … awakens a primal beast buried deep within the souls of men.” The chaplain paused, watching the engineer closely. “I am not the right man to offer you council in this regard, but allow me to say, I do not believe it was your fault. The Lord clearly has a plan for you.”

  
  
Nikola frowned. She hadn’t been able to hear the first part of the conversation, so she wasn’t sure what they meant. Gunther sighed, rubbing the back of his head. It seemed like the chaplain’s words didn’t really help him. “Regardless, I still have to live with myself in the meantime.”

  
  
Fedor started to laugh at the engineer’s words and slapped his own knee before saying, “Son, I have been living with myself for far too long. It won’t get any easier until you make peace with the demons that plague you.”

  
  
Gunther nodded solemnly. He was fully aware that by throwing his own lot in with the Crows, he was assisting one of the shadiest organizations in the Empire. However, the Lord Commissar had extended a hand in the engineer’s most dire hour, and he had been more than grateful to accept it. Slowly, he started to smile. “I know that, but what can I say? I am a big ole softy.” Gunther shrugged exaggeratedly. “I am no hardened killer like yourself or the agents. Frankly, I don’t even understand why the Lord Commissar was willing to give me a chance.”

  
  
“There is more to war than being able to kill without hesitation,” Fedor said, starting to roll the beads in his hand again. “Your posivity does much to prevent this miserable unit of the broken and damned from falling into madness.”

  
  
“Broken and the damned?” Gunther hummed, putting a hand on his chin. He looked over at Fedor, “Which one are you then?”

Without hesitation, Fedor replied, “Both.”

The sound of a twig snapping caused both men to fall silent. Nikola looked down, and to her frustration, found that she had shifted her foot slightly and inadvertently broken a small branch underneath her boot. Nikola was used to spying within the Magnus, which had no such hazards strewn about. Instinctively she dropped to her stomach, trying to hide underneath the vehicle.

  
  
It was too late, however, and Nikola felt rough hands grabbing the back of her collar and jerking her to a standing position. Enraged, Fedor her shook her slightly and demanded, “Agent Graf, I hope you have a good reason for spying on a chaplain while he is consoling someone.”

Nikola shook off his hands, unsettled by being grabbed so suddenly then loudly declared, “You have no right to touch me.” She jabbed a finger at him.“Know your place, or I will have Chiara flog you.”

Worried a fight might break out, Gunther moved between them both with hands outstretched. “Come on now, you two. There is more than enough of me to go around.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “I promise, sharing is easy once you get to used to it.”

  
  
Nikola dropped her guard and looked ready to gag. “Gross. For that joke alone, I should flog you myself.”

“You know what jokes are, Agent Graf?” Gunther asked, looking shocked at the revelation.

  
  
“You are,” Nikola answered harshly before crossing her arms.

Even Fedor couldn’t stop himself from cracking a smile before the disappointment came back to his face. “Your desire to defile everything in a thirty mile radius aside, Trofim,” the chaplain turned to glare at Nikola and ask, “Explain yourself, why are you spying on us?”

  
  
Nikola crossed her arms and looked away. “None of your business.”

  
  
Fedor looked ready to throttle the childish girl, but Gunther started to laugh hysterically. Once again, his attitude continued to weaken the situation. In between breaths, he gasped, “Come on, now. Surely even you, Father, can see that Agent Graf has a crush on you.”

  
  
In that instant, the anger that Nikola and Fedor had intended to use on each other became directed at the hapless engineer, who soon found himself laying face up in the snow. The man was still smiling when he finally sat up, shaking the snow out of his hair.

Satisfied with Gunther’s state, Nikola finally explained, “I just wanted to understand what had gotten into this one.” Channeling her friend’s energy, the girl used the pointed toe of her boot to antagonize the engineer.

While attempting to dodge the spoke of her boot, Gunther said jokingly, “Ah, so you were worried?” Seeing that Nikola might actually kill him, he hastily added, “Well, you heard it, I assume. What do you think?”

  
  
Staring down at Gunther, Nikola sighed. “I did not actually hear anything.”

  
  
“Would you like to know?” Gunther asked, pushing himself into a sitting position before Fedor helped to pull him to his feet.

Nikola looked at him blankly. She would admit she was curious, but she still shook her head. “No. Forget it.”

She turned to leave, but Fedor held out a hand. “Hold on a second, Agent Graf.”

  
  
The stoic girl stopped and grumbled, “What?”

  
  
Fedor pressed the bridge of his nose and mumbled a quick prayer. “I suggest you learn to respect your men’s privacy if you wish to earn the right to lead this unit.” He waved his hand toward the Nord and continued, “Trofim is unusually forgiving.”

  
  
“That I am,” Gunther said, nodding with enthusiasm. “Some say it’s my best quality.”

Fedor glanced at him. “Right… ” he sighed, then glanced back to Nikola and finished his thought. “Others won’t take to kindly to you prying into their lives. Some might even react violently.”

  
  
Nikola considered what he was saying, and almost found herself missing the Orcinus Magnus. At least the Magnus was something familiar. Echoing Lord Belgar’s own words, she said, “It’s my job to maintain eyes on the men… and report discontent.”

  
  
“No, your job is to lead and keep things organized,” Fedor said as if she was the dumbest person in the world. “Lord Commissar York is well aware of what kind of men he recruited. You will gain nothing by reporting on them.”

  
  
Nikola bit her lip nervously, having once again been reminded of how different things were now. While she had accepted that Karl’s approach was different, she naively still felt the need to try to earn her new boss’s praises. Shrugging her shoulders, she mumbled, “Fine. I get it.”

“For what it is worth…” Gunther spoke up, coming over to stand next to Nikola. He crossed his arms rather seriously, but Nikola was sure he was still joking. “I think you and Agent Rocino are doing a fine job.”

  
  
“I do not care what you think of us,” Nikola muttered, though it was obvious her harshness was a gut reaction more than anything else. She hesitated for a moment, realizing what she said, then looked away blankly. “…Thanks.”

Gunther watched her leave with a distinct feeling of sadness for his commander. To him, neither girl seemed all that bad, really, even if they could be intimidating. He wasn’t really even bothered by their age or gender, like many of the others were; it was definitely more interesting than he would have expected when he first joined the military. At the very least, playing with fire was his specialty, and he wasn’t concerned at all with his well-being. Their violent and impulsive attitudes didn’t bother him; there could be worse ways to die, surely, than earning the ire of two murderous teenagers.

  
-

With Nikola wasting her time on a spying mission, Chiara was left to her own devices, which could only spell disaster. Attached to the main headquarters was a medium-sized room that doubled as a bedroom for officers overseeing the mission, which was, in this case, Karl. With his departure, though, he had told both girls it could be converted into their own bedroom if they preferred to be separate from the rest of the men. The idea of being able to settle their spats in private without the men watching was enough for Nikola and Chiara to jump at the opportunity, although the change was more uncomfortable than they had expected.

Having grown used to spartan living conditions of the cramped, metal box the girls called a room on the Magnus, the command room’s spaciousness was uncomfortable. The first rule of business was to push their cots together on one side of the room, in an attempt to replicate the creaky metal bunks they had gotten used to growing up.

An issue from the main barracks was amplified as Nikola found herself unable to sleep without the background hum and occasional banging from the submarine’s massive engine. Now, even the sounds of the men of Kriegstotcher were absent, and Chiara’s snoring could do little to alleviate the homesick girl’s agitation. Nikola spent many nights sitting up staring at the wall. Likewise, Chiara found herself constantly woken up at odd hours by the chirping of birds outside. The noise had filled her with such a rage that she had, on two separate occasions, attempted to scare the animals off by taking shots at them with her dunkel.

Lord Belgar had rigidly enforced sleep schedules on Nikola and Chiara, forcing them to take sleeping pills if they were awake during times he had no need for them. Without medicine to help, neither girl was entirely sure what to do during the long stretches of time when they were unable to fall asleep. When they did manage to lay down, there were only nightmares to greet them. The lack of rest only added to their erratic and irrational behavior.

Alone and already growing antsy, Chiara set about nosing through some of Karl’s belongings, which he had left behind by mistake during his departure within a locker in the room. On the map table in the center of the room she placed a mystery novel that was bookmarked mid-tale and a worn journal with poetry scrawled within. Within the man’s worn canvas knapsack, she also managed to find a handful of photos of corpses that seemed oddly framed, an unmarked plastic bottle of white tablets, and an internal medal of the Commissariat depicting a crow taking flight holding in its talons a machine pistol.

Curiously, Chiara took the medal and held it up the light, looking at its etching. The black finish was worn, revealing brass underneath. There was a slogan printed in Latin near the rifle: _Order through darkness; Peace through war._ Flipping it over, she found more words engraved on the back: _Awarded to Karl Ludwig for heroism and valor on the battlefields the world will never know._

Chiara felt an odd weight settle in her stomach. She thought over her own experiences, trying to figure out what she might have done to not earn recognition for her own achievements. “Useless…” she mumbled, turning the medal back over in her hand. Seeing the word “peace” again made her wince. She could feel all the anger and upset she’d been trying to distract herself from bubbling up once more. What good was someone like her in times of peace? What good was she even in times of war, if she couldn’t even do anything good enough to get some stupid medal? By the time she snapped out of her train of thought, she unclenched her hand, realizing the pin had begun to stab her palm.

Bitterly she kicked the table and flung the medal, which skittered across the wood surface. “It’s not fair!” she said to the empty room before huffing and plopping down in the chair. She hoped to take her mind off things by turning her attention to the photos. They were grayscale crime scene photos, but something was off about them. As crime scene photos… they looked pretty bad. None of them showed the entire body, and the close-ups didn’t actually show anything important. Curiously, all the bodies looked like they could simply just be sleeping. If the pictures were supposed to be artistic, it was lost on her, as she cared even less for the concept than Nikola.

The final photo, though, caused her brown eyes to widen. It was from Schwartzgrad Plaza, and lacking any dead bodies. Instead, it showed the Lord Commissar in all his glory, dressed in his full black uniform, standing on the pile of rubble of the Plaza’s fountain. He seemed to be peering out across the inlet to the Crystal Sea. His cane was barely visible, hidden by his leg, and he looked as though he was standing upright without assistance. Chiara flipped the photo over and saw there was writing on the back that read: _After the Night of Talons our organization was reborn and emerged from the darkness to find our motherland inhabited by strangers. We can no longer_ _afford to passively sit at the sideline_ _s._

  
  
Once again she was unsure what to think. She tossed the photos back down on the table and sighed, feeling her own unique twinge of homesickness. Similar to Nikola, Karl’s leadership and willingness to treat her like a person made their lives feel all the more surreal.

Her dark eyes flicked to the bottle of tablets, and she calmly picked them up. She unscrewed the white lid and tapped out one of the small pills into her hand. She recognized the chalky texture immediately and frowned. Why would Karl have a bottle of Belgar’s medicine? As far as Chiara understood, the Commissariat and X-0 had no contact with each other. Her mouth started to salivate upon seeing the medicine and she licked her lips, fixated intently on the small pill. Shakily, Chiara brought it up toward her mouth.

  
  
“What do you have there?” Nikola’s cold, emotionless cadence caused Chiara to nearly jump out of her chair. The blonde girl giggled at the reaction, impressed that she could still manage to conceal her presence to scare her comrade.

  
  
Chiara jerked around and immediately hid the medicine behind her back. “N- Nothing.”

  
  
Nikola watch ed the move, face returning to a cold sneer. “Chiara, are you really so weak-willed that you are already going to disobey Commissar Ludwig’s orders?” The Crow had made it crystal clear that both girls were expected to follow the medical advice of Doctor Kimura without fail. The doctor had been trying with some success to help both girls ween off their dependence on Belgar’s medicine.

  
  
“I wasn’t!” Chiara insisted, but the fact she was still holding the tablet behind her back said otherwise.

Nikola pointed at Karl’s locker. “Then it put it back where you found it.” When Chiara continued to hesitate, the stoic girl glared. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  
  
Nikola watched, mildly relieved, as she slid the tablet back into the bottle and turned back around. Chiara crossed her arms and grumbled, “Are you happy now?”

  
  
“Yes. Now I don’t have to rearrange your face before the mission,” Nikola spoke icily as she walked over to Chiara’s side of the table, setting down two cans of mystery rations. Gottfried had waved her down as she returned from the Motor Pool, reminding the girl that she and Chiara had once again forgotten their meals. Like most of their miserable lives, they had both grown used to Lord Belgar’s rigid scheduling; without it, they were both a bit of a mess.

Upon seeing the cans, Chiara’s stomach growled. She sighed dejectedly. “We forgot again, didn’t we?”

  
  
“It would seem so,” Nikola said, relaxing a little as she stabbed her knife down into the can. She popped the lid and studied the now-cold contents. “Looks like some kind of soup.” She placed it on the table and did the same with the other can. She stared at the second ration in mild disgust. “Is this worms?”

  
  
Chiara leaned over to see. Inside the can was, in fact, what definitely looked like long slimy worms soaking in an oily near-gray liquid. She immediately made a face and said, “Yuck, that one is yours.”

Nikola started to grin maliciously. “Sorry, I already called the soup on my way over.” She set the can of worms down and snatched the other ration before her partner could react.

  
  
“ Oi!” Chiara shouted angrily, stomping her foot. “You can’t do that!”

“Hmm, but I already did,” Nikola snickered as she walked over to the other side of the table with her prize and sat down. Without using a utensil, she brought the can to her lips and took a sip from the cold broth. Like most things she ate, it didn’t taste of anything in particular, and she wondered for a moment if it was supposed to taste as mediocre as it looked. Taking another sip, she glanced over at Chiara, who was still staring at her can of worms. “Better eat, or you will only slow us down.”

  
  
“How am I supposed to eat this?” Chiara waved her arms in frustration, staring at the supposed food in front of her. When Nikola simply shrugged and laughed at her pain, Chiara took the can and sat down. She poked a finger into it and shuddered. Whatever it was, the worms were as slimy as they looked. Also lacking a meaningful utensil, Chiara picked one out and gingerly brought it to her mouth. To her surprise she was able to slurp it easily. Even more surprising, the taste at least wasn’t entirely repugnant.

  
  
“Ew! I can’t believe you would eat that. You are so disgusting, Chiara.” Nikola sneered from across the table.

  
  
“Bite me,” Chiara bit back, knowing she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Suddenly she had a spark of inspiration and reached down, grabbing the hilt of her knife. Carefully she took the blade and stuck into the middle of the worms, spinning trying to wrap a few up into one mass. With ease she could eat it in small bites, and she was pleased with the result.

  
  
Nikola watched her eat for a moment, making a mental note; she had never eaten something like that before, but it seemed the way Chiara was handling it might be correct. The two ate in in silence for a moment before the blonde girl piped up. “I think we should stop spying on the men.”

Chiara looked obviously taken aback by the suggestion. “What? Why?”

“We are not really in X-0 anymore. It’s not like there is anyone we can report our findings to,” Nikola explained, staring down into her cold soup.

“What about Commissar Ludwig?” Chiara asked somewhat naively.

  
  
Nikola shook her head. “Everyone here was recruited with the Commissariat fully aware of their motivations and pasts, us included.” She let the words settle for a moment before sitting back and rubbing her arm, unsure of how to express what she was thinking. “And, well… I don’t think we should give them anymore reason to resent us.”

Chiara leaned onto the table, chin in hand, and grumbled, “Everything always has to be so complicated now…” She was grateful to be useful enough to be trusted with leadership, but she missed the simpler methods of keeping men in line that they were allowed on the Magnus.

  
  
“We will handle it,” Nikola assured her, sounding more assertive than usual. She giggled and mused, “Maybe Lord Commissar York will see fit to offer his praises.” Though she didn’t understand York all that well, she still wondered how different it would be to get on his good side. He was so different from Lord Belgar, she wasn’t even sure where to start.

  
  
Chiara thought about the black medal she found in Karl’s locker. Even the medals on Belgar’s chest paled in comparison to the ornate detail on the crow’s wings. “Yeah, maybe you are right. I would like to have a medal like that one day.” It was a rather childish wish, yet the idea of being recognized for her accomplishments someday left her feeling hopeful.

  
  
Nikola glanced over at the metal bird, which was resting on top of the photos, and softly said, “It is very pretty…” Her eyes flicked to Chiara’s own, which had moved back to longingly staring at the white tablets.

Chiara realized Nikola had followed her gaze, and quickly looked away. “I know.”

  
  
However, her eyes kept flicking back to the medicine. Nikola sighed and stood up. She walked over and picked up the small bottle, sliding it into her pocket without a word. “There, I am going to take this to Kimura.”

  
  
A knock on the door caused both girls to look over, and Chiara called out, “Enter.” It was another odd change to their lives since leaving X-0, as they never really had anyone request permission to enter their quarters.

The door swung open and the ghostly sniper of Kriegstotcher lightly stepped into the room. Sorina brushed some snow off of her arms before saying, “Ulf is on the radio. It sounds like he’s about to get started.”

  
  
“Finally!” Chiara said enthusiastically, jumping to her feet. “Come on, Nikola!” She was already pushing Sorina over and practically out the door.

  
  
Nikola watched the display with amusement before grabbing her partner’s knife, which had been left on the table, and heading out the door with the sniper.

-

Nikola listened intently as Ulf lined out his own plan of attack, which wound up being on the same page as the Commissariat’s own plan. The Loyalist commander would be starting off by attacking a dockyard located in the city of Tolna. It was built by the Empire and was where most Imperial battleships were manufactured. However, Ulf had wanted discuss final strategic plans in person and provided the location of his new camp.

  
  
Nikola assured him that Kriegstotcher would be ready to assist. With the radio call concluded, she ordered Sorina to get the men together in the center of camp and quickly made for the armory to suit up herself.

  
  
-

Chiara had already been suiting up and was in the process of strapping on her leather wrist guards when Nikola entered. “So, this is it?” she asked, flexing her hand. It was going to be their first real test of command, leading more than three men.

  
  
Nikola quickly moved to her own armor locker, marked as such with a letter N crudely scratched on the front. While carefully fitting her spiked elbow pads, she said, “So it would seem. Ulf is moving his men now.”

It only took them a few minutes to be fully suited up. Chiara hooked her quiver on to her belt and grinned. “Ehehe, no mistakes this time.” She slid out a box, in which Gunther had been depositing the spare bolts he had been tasked with making. She popped it open and asked, “What do you want?”

  
  
Nikola took out her dunkel to check its metal wire, making sure it was in acceptable condition. She looked down and answered, “Poison.”

  
  
Chiara rolled her eyes, but she was too excited about the upcoming battle to actually be mean. “At least you are still predictable,” she said. She grabbed a handful of the bolts with purple vials at the tip and held them up.

Nikola took them and slid them into her left quiver. She watched as Chiara went immediately for the barbed and explosive bolts, denoted by a glass vial full of gray shrapnel and a small blue vial respectively. “You are one to talk about being predictable.”

  
  
“What, do you want to be the one dealing with the tanks?” Chiara shot back, popping open a second crate which housed the standard bolts.

“Fair enough,” Nikola said, crouching down and loading up her second quiver with the plain bolts. She noticed there were a few of the custom bolts Gunther had made that were left; she grabbed two for herself, and left the last three for Chiara.

  
  
Fully suited up, they both looked at each other in the light of the armory. Their armor’s gold lining had lost some of its sheen, and both girls’ carapaces were worn from use. Overall, though, everything was still in decent shape considering what they had both been through.

  
  
“We need to brief the men before heading out,” Nikola said aloud, as if it were such a simple task.

Running her hand across her own crossbow, Chiara looked up, as if suddenly remembering they were in charge of whole unit. “What are we suppose to say this time?”

  
  
“Just go over the plan and delegate leadership roles,” Nikola said blandly.

“Then lets get on with it,” Chiara said confidently, cracking her neck. “I want to kill someone.”

  
  
Before she could leave, Nikola took a step between her and the door. Calmly, she put her hands on her hips and said, “No competition this time. We are doing this right.”

  
  
Chiara started to grin, displaying her sharp teeth in full, and nodded, “No more competitions. We are partners, after all.”

  
  
She stuck out a hand, still smiling, and Nikola couldn’t help but return the look with her own smile. Without hesitation, she took Chiara’s hand and shook it. “Together we won’t fail.”

  
  
Chiara started to cackle. “Lets slaughter them all.”

  
  
-

The soldiers of Kriegstotcher stood in the center of the camp, lined up in rows of black. It was dark outside, and without the assistance of the spotlights around the camp, the men would have blended perfectly into the darkness. Everyone jumped to attention as Nikola and Chiara stepped forward in front of the whole unit. It some ways, it was comical that the two girls in charge of the Commissariat’s hand-picked unit were at least a half a foot shorter than the rest of the soldiers.

  
  
In the rows of armed men, Nikola saw Sorina’s white hair first in the back row. The red-eyed sniper looked more like a demon of some kind with her massive sniper rifle slung over her shoulder. Like always, it seemed as though her eyes were staring straight through the girl. She averted her eyes, glancing around at the rest of the group.

Gunther was standing at the end of the center row, smoking as always, though he did look to be in better spirits. He was weighed down with a massive pack and an impressive pair of bolt cutters. For once he had seen fit to actually put on his breastplate, which glinted from underneath his heavy wool coat.

Gottfried stood confidently in his heavy armor, which really did make him look like a knight of old. On his back was a massive shield which could serve as a form of mobile cover for his advance. In his other hand he held a mighty war pick that could probably pierce through even the strongest body armor. Standing next to the giant man was Siegward looking prideful as always in his far lighter leather armor. He was tightly gripping his sword; like Chiara, he clearly seemed itching to kill someone. Front and center in the crowd was Fedor, adorned in his armored tunic. He clutched his weapon in one hand and a book in the other, along with his set of beads wrapped around his forearm.

  
  
Nikola took a deep breath and glanced over at Chiara before speaking. “Alright, everyone. This is it! The moment we have been waiting for!” She paused to gauge the reaction, and once satisfied the men were listening, she continued, “Commissar Ludwig was clear—only twenty-five men will be accompanying us on this initial attack. The rest of you will be in reserve!”

Some of the men started to murmur amongst themselves, and Chiara took a step forward. “Quiet! You will all get your turn!” Silence descended again and she called out, “We are splitting the assault force into two squads!”

  
  
Nikola took over again. “Squad One will be led by us!” She was amused by their reactions; it was clear some of the men still clearly did not want to fight under them directly.

“Oh boy, I hope I get to be in Squad One,” a familiar voice interrupted. It was easy to recognize Gunther’s quips even from the back row.

“You are in luck, Trofim!” Chiara shouted, stamping her foot. “Your job will be keeping us both supplied in combat, along with dealing with any fortifications we come across.” They had both agreed he was the logical choice, given his training as an assault pioneer and experience at close quarters.

“Works for me!” Gunther shouted back, saluting her.

  
  
“Gottfried and Servaas!” Nikola shouted, and both men stood at attention. “You are with us as well!”

  
  
“By God’s glorious light,” Fedor said, pulling back the firing mechanism on his weapon. “The Kingdom will be packed full with men I send to Him.”

  
  
Gottfried bang his shield and bellowed, “Just stay behind me and we won’t have anything to worry about!”

  
  
Nikola waited a moment for everything to settle down. “That being said, Chiara and I may not be able to maintain both crews alone in the midst of battle.”

  
  
“As such, we are appointing a secondary commander to keep things organized in the thick of it!” Chiara added leaning forward enjoying herself.

  
  
“Siegward! You are are charge!” Nikola yelled, pointing at Siegward. The young man looked somewhat surprised by the choice. “Feel free to use whatever composition you think is best.” She was making a logical assumption, based on what he told her earlier; somewhere down the line, he must have had experience with leadership.

  
  
The Fencer stepped up beside the two girls and, resting his hand on his sword, said, “Very well. I will do my best.” Siegward pointed to Sorina. “Witch. I assume you need no direction?”

  
  
Sorina nodded without a word. Satisfied with their plan, Nikola stamped her foot. “These are the orders from Lord Commissar York himself! Civilian causalities are acceptable! We have free reign to do anything necessary to secure victory!”

  
  
The soldiers of Kriegstotcher started to stomp their feet in unison, excited at the prospect of being fully turned loose. Chiara punched her fist together, concluding by shouting, “Let us show Lord Commissar York that we all are worthy of a second chance! Move out!”

The men quickly split apart, and Siegward easily chose the rest of the men to comprise the attack force. Soon enough, everything was ready. Nikola and Chiara stepped into the first half-track which was idling nosily.

  
  
Chiara sat down, leaning over and whispering, “Be careful out there.”

Nikola’s eyes widened for a moment, but she nodded and leaned over, nudging the other girl with her elbow. “You too.”

  
  
-

Far from the North, secluded in his gloomy refuge of the Commissariat’s notorious prison, Commissar Volker was wrapping up with his first appointment for the night. Duke Bergmann had proved relatively easy to crack, as once informed of the fate of the rest of his family, he began to blubber like a scared child. A noble lineage cut short was no bother to head torturer, who saw such a thorough approach as a tragic necessity to keep the Empire safe.

Volker was a man who took the formalities of his job quite seriously. Once satisfied with the state of his prey, he calmly sat down his instruments and picked up a manila folder. Inside was the standard Commissariat confession, a pristine paper with a large header reading “Confession of Treason” in bold print, with Latin text detailing in broad terms one’s admittance to conspiring against the state. Underneath was a clean line for the accused party’s signature below. He smiled wistfully, knowing their time was nearing an end. He walked back to the lacerated mass that constituted the Duke’s body. He crouched down with a plastic smile plastered on his face; the room’s lighting made him look like a bogeyman from a children’s story.

In a short, jerky motion Volker snapped his finger, causing the brutalized man to open his remaining good eye and attempt to push away from the torturer. The fearful response he found acceptable, and in a smooth monotone cadence he said, “Mr. Bergmann, further resistance is pointless. We already know you were fully aware of Torben’s plot to sell military secrets to the Gallia nobility. Therefore, you are complicit in his crime. Please sign.” He gently placed the fold next to Bergmann’s hand and laid a pen on top.

  
  
Bergmann did his best to focus through the pain, and once his vision cleared somewhat, all he was greeted with was the visage of a smiling Volker, whose head was cocked to the side in a rather unnatural motion. “Y-You… The Emperor will…” It was all he was able to gasp out before Volker’s fist shot out and connected with his face. He groaned and once again attempted to pull away.

  
  
“We act with the Emperor’s authority. Invoking his status is futile,” Volker said calmly, returning to his fake plastic self as if he had never lashed out. “Come now, your family is waiting. Your signature, please.” He tapped the folder again.

When the duke did not move, the Commissar sighed in disappointment and stood up again. Slowly, drawing out his steps, he walked back to the tray of instruments which sat against the wall. “You despise me, no doubt. I assure you, Mr. Bergmann, I am not an evil man.”

Volker looked over his instruments with a closeness similar to a diamond appraisal. He brushed his hands over the tools before settling on a serrated hunting knife, picking it up and holding it up in the light.

“I am a family man myself, you know? My daughter is the light of my life. Always so curious, wanting to know why daddy goes away for so long.” He spun the knife in his hand, looking at it as if it were an old friend. “A man like me usually would never be granted such a joy… But thanks to Lord Commissar York and this all consuming war, I was given a chance. A chance to use my destructive nature for the betterment of our society.”

He turned on his heel, causing his long black coat to flutter around him. With a spring in his step, he returned to the Duke and crouched down again. “I also have lovely wife. Most men tell me she is beautiful—breathtaking, even.” He gently ran the tip of the blade across the man’s body and licked his lips as Bergmann started to shudder. “Don’t get me wrong, I do believe them, but I just find her advances… repulsive. She flings herself on me, so desperate for my attention, and it’s all I can do not to scream.” Without a hint of feeling, Volker brought the knife back up to the Duke’s face and started to cut off a portion of his cheek.

Desperately attempting to jerk away from the pain, Duke Bergmann finally cried out, “I confess, I confess! Please! Please, no more!”

  
  
Volker stopped with a frown. He pulled the knife back, allowing the flesh to dangle, revealing some of the Duke’s remaining teeth. The torturer nodded and picked up folder again, trying to be mindful of leaving stains on it. He pushed it into the dying man’s stomach. The Duke took the pen and scrawled a barely legible signature before limply dropping his hand.

Wordlessly, Volker took the folder and stood up to examine the paper. Happy with the signature, he calmly reached into his coat pocket, removing a large, boxy pistol. “Personally, I like to think of myself an unfortunate creation of this war. I defend our motherland.” With a slight tremor in his hand, he took aim at the condemned Duke’s head. “From traitors like yourself.” He squeezed the trigger, and the shot echoed off the stone cell. A single casing skidded across the floor. “Truth be told, it’s far better than rotting in prison.”

As he exited the cell, Volker exhaled and cracked his neck. He was feeling alright with how he handled the Duke; perhaps normal people would underestimate how much work it takes to extract a confession. He motioned to the two guards at the door, who entered to remove the body; it would soon be cremated and buried in a field a few miles outside of Schwartzgrad.

  
  
Humming an upbeat tune to himself, the ghoul returned to his refuge—a small office built into the side of the bleak stone walls. It was so tiny, in fact, that it only had room for a steel desk and a single filing cabinet that was in need of new paint. However, it was not the amenities that made the office Volker’s home; scattered about the cramped office was mementos of various sort. Sitting on his desk were a jar of preserved hands, cut from a young woman who had confessed to being a Vinnish spy, and a bowl full of eyeballs that had been plucked from the heads of Gallian prisoners, molded in leather to serve as thumbtacks.

On the other side of the desk was Volker’s centerpiece: the immaculate polished skull of X-0’s strategist. He once remarked to Karl that it really tied the whole room together. In many ways, Volker was viewed as an oddity in the Commissariat; even among his own flock he was regarded as a primitive man driven by instinct and emotion, rather than logic. He was in full agreement, however, and would gladly admit to becoming enticed by the most seemingly irrelevant things. His office was a testament to that—a blue jay’s nest of the odds and ends that interested him.

Sitting down at his desk, he took a moment to spin around in his chair. “Ah, Forseti, I am up to seventy confessions this week. With a little luck, I might beat my old record.” He reached over and took the skull in his hand. “Now, now, there is no reason to be angry.” Volker looked down at a new folder resting on his desk, which had not been there earlier in the morning. Curiously, he flipped it open and started to laugh before addressing the skull again. “Sorry, can this debate wait? It looks like my next appointment is with a friend of yours.”

He reached over and dragged the black rotary phone over before dialing the second floor. It rang for a moment before Ulyana answered, “What is it this time? I already told you, we simply do not have to men to spare.”

  
  
Volker faked a cough. “Ulyana, it is me.”

  
  
“Oh, Volker. What can I do for you?” Ulyana asked, changing her tone to be a little more upbeat.

“Tell me, is Klara still meeting with the Lord Commissar?’ Volker asked, amusing himself by spinning in the chair again.

He heard the receiver change hands and Klara’s voice over the line. “What do you want, Volker?”

“Klara, dear. Would you please join me? I have a special case today, and I’d appreciate your very… delicate touch,” Volker said before hanging up without further elaboration. He enjoyed keeping his coworkers on their toes.

Putting the skull down, he opened the bottom drawer on the right hand side of the desk with a metallic squeak. Inside was a large, leather-bound journal, which he leafed through to a bookmarked section. Within the pages were detailed work on experimentation involving the calibration of the human body. It was not his own work, of course. He was simply an admirer; the journal originally belonged to Lord Heinrich Belgar. For his upcoming case, though, he just might have found the perfect time to test the doctor’s findings.

-

It took only a few minutes for Klara to descend into the depths of the prison. Volker heard the rhythmic tapping of her boots before she opened the door. She was adorned in her long, heavy black trenchcoat, which for once was buttoned all the way up. She shot the man a contemptuous glare and asked, “What is it, Volker?”

  
  
Volker stood up, shutting the book, and picked up the folder. “It seems Lord Commissar York has finally given me permission to process Klaus Walz. I figured you would like to assist.” He smiled nonchalantly and offered the folder to her. “We must have really ruffled the army’s feathers with this one. I received several nasty calls demanding he be tried with a military tribunal.”

  
  
Klara rolled her eyes and grabbed the folder from him. “And give those careerist a chance to protect one of their own? I think not. This why our organization exists, to ensure justice is done and traitors will pay for their crimes in blood.”

“I agree entirely,” Volker replied enthusiastically, moving back over to his desk and grabbing the leather journal. “But enough about that. I would like to try something a little unorthodox with such an esteemed guest.”

  
  
Klara moved out into the hallway, reading through the list of charges intently. “How odd. I didn’t think you were one to change formulas.”

  
  
“Well, after my first attempt, at reeducating a rebellious mind…” Volker trailed off with an ounce of merriment in his step. “Went rather poorly...”

  
  
“…You mean Manfred?” Klara asked, glancing over at her fellow Commissar before shuddering, remembering the state of the tortured man's body.

“Yes, indeed, our new comrade in arms,” Volker confirmed with a fast nod. “It’s a shame I let myself get a little overzealous with the whole process, but that being said—” He held up the book in his hand. “Now I have the esteemed Doctor Belgar’s own blueprints to work off of. I am certain I can perfect my approach.”

They reached the cell which Klaus was being held in. Klara placed a hand on her hip before asking, “It sounds as though you already have everything planned, so why do you need me?”

  
  
Volker clasped his hands together eagerly and said, “Because it was your case originally. I would hate to deprive you of your fun, Klara.”

Klara couldn’t help but smirk at the idea the head torturer was doing it out of the kindness in his own black heart. “Alright then, Volker. Allow me the honor of extracting the confession. I have been itching to knock the pretty man’s teeth out since his stolen gun moll killed my men.”

  
  
“Please, take your time,” Volker offered, smoothly gesturing to a rotten bench that faced the row of cells. “I find a little music helps me focus on my reading.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Volker and Klaus are going to be best friends :) The schedule coming up is one more chapter and an omake, then probably a month or so until part 3 begins. We are also planning on doing an FAQ sometime later, so if you have any questions for us, leave a comment. Once again, thanks to everyone who's reading.


	7. Chapter 7

Dragged from his home only a week after the initial battle at Schwartzgrad, Klaus had not even had the chance to ask what crimes he had been charged with before being pushed into a windowless, stone interrogation room. Volker had wanted to process the Lieutenant Colonel right away. However, at the time, Montgomery was more concerned about the whereabouts of Heinrich Belgar. While the torturer was focusing his efforts on extracting confessions from Nikola and Chiara, the unfortunate Klaus Walz was left to rot.

The wait was nothing short of maddening. Aside from the bored, rude guard who brought him a single meal each day, Klaus had not so much as seen another human being. The occasional screams of of prisoners, that somehow felt both nearby yet distant, did little to fill him with confidence about his own fate. He occupied his time by alternating between pacing around the concrete floor and laying atop of the steel table in the center of the room. With the single bright bulb hanging above him making it difficult to sleep, he had completely lost track of time. He almost was grateful to see two guards enter his cell and cuff his hands. They pushed him into a chair, informing Klaus that the Commissars would attend to him soon.

He slumped in the uncomfortably cold chair, aware suddenly of how long it must have been since he last showered. He squinted at the door as it opened dramatically, revealing the red-headed Crow who had been the one behind the siege of his hometown. She quietly shut the door behind her and studied him with her dark blue eyes before looking back down at the folder in her hand.

It was Klaus who spoke first. “Y-You. You are the one,” he rasped. The words felt strange in his mouth, as it’d been some time since he last spoke. As he had been ripped away from his home and found himself surrounded by a sea of black-clad Commissars, it was impossible to miss the fiery auburn hair of the woman who was overseeing his arrest, along with her malicious smirk. Despite his weak state, Klaus shot to his feet angrily but stumbled as the shackles tugged against him. “All those people! For what!?”

  
  
Klara rolled her eyes at the question before strutting over and sliding into the chair across from him. Still looking at the pages in the folder, she dismissively said, “I read through the full report of the trials involving that weapon.” She paused and looked up, locking eyes with him. “Given that valkyria’s particular mental instability, quick action was required to prevent any potential damage to the town itself.” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “I do have regrets for the loss of so many of our loyal citizens, but regaining control of the situation was paramount at the time.” She stared at him dully and rested her hands in her lap. “Do not look at me like that, Walz. Did you really think we would allow you to steal one of our military’s most important war assets and just walk away?”

Klaus broke eye contact, uncomfortable with the emptiness of the woman’s eyes. He was unsure what to say at first. He was fully aware of the precarious situation he now found himself in, and thus needed to choose his words with a degree of care. “Steal? Special Agent Forseti transferred Crymaria under my command for our operation.” He shifted and glanced back at the Commissar, who seemed to only be half-listening as she continued to read. “The ceasefire was in full effect. What else were we suppose to do?”

His question caused Klara to frown. “Well, for one, you could have remained in Schwartzgrad and submitted to questioning at the time.” She placed the open report in front of her and sighed, as if already bored with the whole affair. “Walz, you have always been a worryingly unreliable element. I personally believe you should have been relieved of command and shot some time ago.” She paused and spoke slowly. “This is not a fairytale where the hero rides off into the sunset. The more I look at this report,” Klara paused and tapped the folder, “The more concerned I become that you were just as complicit as X-0 in harming our defensive operations.”

Klaus’s face contorted at her mechanical, almost bureaucratic tone, but he bit his tongue before saying anything he might regret. A question was still burning in the back of his mind, and after trying to muster his characteristic char, he asked, “Crymaria. Where is she? Is she ok?”

Klara answered almost immediately, as if anticipating the question. “Do I look like a quartermaster? I do not handle requisitions.” She shrugged nonchalantly and sneered, “Her fate is out of our organization’s hands. Be grateful–had Lord Commissar York had the final decision, she would have been sealed deep in a hole in the ground without even the luxury of sunlight on her face.”

The ominous implication settled heavily on Klaus, and he slide down in his chair, understandably upset to hear the woman he loved was caught once more in the kind of cruel and precarious situation he tried to free her from in the first place. Dejectedly he mumbled, “I couldn’t protect her...”

Ignoring the man’s distraught words, Klara turned her attention back to the papers in front of her. “Let us focus on the present, Walz. As it currently stands, these are the charges you are facing, aside from stealing a war asset: the total failure to hold fast at Seigval, which set this tragic chain of events in motion; failure to relieve the defenders of Schwartzgrad; and, considering the circumstances we are now in, the Commissariat must also assume you were complicit in X-0’s own treasonous plot to defect to Vinland.” She picked up the paper, studying it closely, and snapped her finger. “Right—last but certainly not least, fraternization with the enemy on multiple occasions.”

She took a moment to allow the words to settle before putting the paper back down and looking expectantly at Klaus. “I have hanged men for far less. It really does seem things go wrong when you are trusted with command. Do you have anything to say that might exonerate you?”

  
  
Klaus couldn’t help but grimace, knowing full well how the Commissariat operated. Even with ample time, even innocent men eventually confessed to crimes they could not have possibly committed. “Hold on a minute. I was already reprimanded for the loss of Seigval,” he began. It wasn’t the greatest defense, but it was the most obvious place to start.

  
  
Klara shuffled through the papers before narrowing her eyes. “Ah, yes. Supply duty, correct?”

Klaus nodded. “Ye—”

  
  
She cut him off with a have of her hand. “Except you did not accept the punishment. Instead, you chose to flee into X-0’s care.” Klara crossed her arms. “And please, do not try to blame Heinrich. He merely extended the offer. Had you refused, perhaps none of this would be unnecessary.”

Balling up his fist under the table, Klaus stayed silent for a moment. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of panic settling in the back of his mind as it was clear the Commissar would hang him, one way or another. “Fine, but I did everything in my power to stop those rangers outside of Schwartzgrad.” He used his cuffed hands to gesture to himself. “It cost me everything. Most of my men… the Vulcan was too damaged to reach the city in time. We were bested by a skilled opponent.”

“Failure is failure, Walz, especially at such a dire moment. All those involved must face repercussions for forcing our Empire to kneel,” Klara explained plainly without the slightest hesitation. “Although, this skilled opponent…” She pulled out another page, which was part of a different intelligence report. She glanced over it and hummed. “Claude Wallace… your soulmate?”

Klaus wasn’t entirely sure how to explain himself, so he said, “A term of respect, if you will. He proved a worthy and honorable adversary.”

This time, Klara started to cackle hysterically. The sudden change in demeanor caused Klaus to jump, and the woman took a moment to regain herself. “Honorable? What ignorance. Tell me, Walz. What do you think those Federate dogs were planning to do once they reached our grand city?”

  
  
“I… do not know. The old man never said. Just that we needed to stop those ships,” Klaus said, understandably unnerved by her reaction.

  
  
“Hmm. Then allow me to enlighten you,” Klara said icily as she leaned forward. “Your dear friend was planning to blow up Schwartzgrad with all its inhabitants. Do you know what that means?” Klaus did not move, trying to read her intent. “It means he is a war criminal of the highest order. It matters little that he did not succeed. Intent alone is more than enough to condemn him.” She pulled back and pointed a finger at Klaus. “And to me, it looks as though you were hoping he would have succeeded.”

“I–” Klaus started to speak, but Klara suddenly kicked the table, causing it to skid along the floor.

“I have heard enough,” Klara said, flipping to the end of the folder and removing a piece of paper. She slid it over to him and quickly removed a pen from her coat, tossing it across the table. In front of Klaus was a confession of treason against the state, neatly printed with its Latin script. “Sign. I have far more important duties to get back to.”

Klaus stared at the sheet before looking up at her. “You can’t be serious. I am not a traitor! I did all I could!”

“And it wasn’t enough,” Klara sneered, uncrossing her legs and standing up. She reached into her jacket, letting her hand linger. “It never is your fault, is it, Walz? Men like you are always able to find someone else to blame.” Klaus’s eyes widened as she removed a boxy pistol from the coat and placed it on the table in front of him. “Here is my proposal. I want you to shoot yourself, here and now. Doing so will confirm your innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

He did not move, staring at the gun with a hollow, disturbed expression on his face. Klara slid the weapon closer to him. “This really is not an absurd request. All I ask is that you make good on your failures. Out of respect for all our dead, at the very least. If you do, we will ensure you are buried a hero.”

Klaus froze in place as a cold sweat formed on his brow. He hated to admit it, but his creeping fear was becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

Annoyed with his silence, Klara walked away from the table, putting both hands behind her back. With the tone of a disappointed teacher, she said, “Let me tell you something, Walz. Within the Commissariat, we Commissars know that we are parts of the whole. Individual actions can have wide ranging effects on the structural integrity of our organization. Lord Commissar York is a brilliant man, and his patience is boundless. He understands that no one is perfect, and that is impossible to always succeed in one’s goals. However, if a Commissar’s failure harms the whole, and by extension harms his comrades, then it is logical that he end his own life within a given amount of time.

She paused, still facing away, staring at the gray wall in front of her. “Thanks to the spectacular failures of military command, yours included, hell is now upon us. Our Empire's survival rests on every soldier's willingness to sacrifice themselves to defend her. Anyone who is unwilling to do draws their loyalty into question. Truly,” she sighed in exasperation, as though explaining something to a child. “This isn't an unreasonable request.”

He stared up at her, uncertain at the point she was trying to make. However, Klara intended to show him—in one fluid motion, she returned to the table, grabbing her sidearm. With calm eyes, she brought it up to her head. Klaus’s eyes widened and as she pulled the trigger. There was click, indicating an empty magazine. She stared at him and holstered the weapon. “Hesitation is nothing more than a confirmation of guilt, Walz.”

“That is ridiculous!” Klaus protested, unnerved by the fanaticism hidden behind Klara’s words.

Before he could say anything else, Klara barked, “Silence, worm!” She came over to his side of the table and tapped the paper angrily. “Justice shall be done. This is your last chance—sign.”

“I will not,” Klaus declared defiantly. He kicked the table, and losing his temper, he shouted, “I demand to be tried through a military court!”

  
  
Klara clicked her tongue and pushed away from the table. She walked over, standing behind the seated man, and place a hand on the back of his head. “I suppose I expected too much from you.”

Before he could respond, she mercilessly slammed his head into the steel table with a loud thud. Cruelly, Klara repeated the process until a noticeable trickle of blood was streaming down from his temple. She then kicked the chair out from under him, causing him to fall onto the stone floor. Klara laughed. “Klaus Walz, you are nothing more then a self-serving narcissist! A putrid blight on our Empire!” She kicked in him the side, causing Klaus to grunt. “Lord Commissar York is right! The entire military has been corrupted from the top down!”

Klaus rolled away from her boot, trying to avoid another blow. He tried sitting up, and commented rather tastelessly through his heavy breathing, “For such a pretty woman…you really do have a violent streak.”

Klara paused for a moment and smiled. “I bet you are use to your charms turning women to putty in your hands.” With fury she slammed the heel of her boot straight into Klaus’s face, knocking some of his teeth out. The bits of white bone skittered across the floor. “Unlike you, I take my duty seriously. I am not so starved for affection that I quiver at the mere thought of someone's interest.”

She kicked him once in the chest. Klaus was certain he felt some thing crack; he writhed as the wind was knocked out of him. Klara paused, wearing a bored expression, before sticking a hand into her exterior coat pocket. She pulled a short black handle out of her pocket, whipping it outward with a distinctive click to reveal a retractable steel baton.

“Allow me to introduce my comrade Schnalzer. Hopefully he will convince you of your error.”

Seeing her intent, Klaus braced himself for the blows to come. The baton whistled as it cut through the air before connecting with his shoulder. He gasped, but before he could fully realize the sensation, Klara followed up by striking his his face hard enough to cause a few faint bubbles of blood rise up from the broken skin. The metal baton quickly struck his legs and Klaus gritted his teeth, tensing against his cuffs. She continued the beating with a rather bored look in her eyes, as though it was simply just another part of the process.

For Klaus, however, it was hell. Strike after strike connected with his skin. The assault was unrelenting, causing the sensations to crawl across his body and leave his mind hazy. The pain was more vivid than anything else after weeks of no mental stimulation. One last strike bit into his forehead, and blood trickled down into his vision, causing him to shut his eyes. Klara dropped the bloody baton loudly on the steel table and wicked away some of the blood that had gotten on her glove. Staring down at him, she growled, “Stand up.”

Klaus remained on the ground, blood dripping from his broken nose and busted lip. He was certain at least a few of his ribs had been bruised. He swallowed dryly, the taste of blood on his tongue.

“You contemptible, worthless man. I gave you an order!” Her voice rang through the cell, but still he did not move. She decided to change tactics. This time, she knelt down and grabbed his left arm by the cuff around his wrist, holding it out straight. “Klaus Walz, do you confess to treason against the East European Imperial Alliance?”

He glared at her but remained silent. In response to his insolence, she gripped his arm and twisted until she heard his elbow crack. Klaus howled in agony and curled in on himself, gripping his shoulder as his arm rested at an awkward angle by his side.

Klara still wasn’t satisfied. She mercilessly beat him in a display of unflinching brutality. He passed out at some point after a few hours, so she gave him about ten minutes before shaking him awake once more and dragging him back to the table. The man was clearly past his limit, struggling to think beyond the pain. Grabbing the back of his head with one hand, she jerked him toward the confession on the table. “Sign.”

His haggard breath echoed along the walls of the cell. Through his blurry vision, the one eye he could still see through caught a glimpse of her cold expression. He had come to the conclusion that the violent Commissar really did intend to kill him. However, he remained defiant, merely staring back down at the paper and not responding.

  
  
Klara sighed and stood up straight, rolling her shoulders. She retracted her baton and slid it back into her pocket. She folded her arms behind her back and stood facing the door. “It seems you do not quite understand your situation.” She returned to the table and leaned on it. “Allow me to explain it in simple terms, Walz. The evidence against you is insurmountable. No one is going to intervene on your behalf.” Klara reached out and roughly grabbed the back of his hair, forcing Klaus to look her in the eye. “To allow a traitor to have a happy ending is foolish. Confess, or I will beat you to death.”

  
  
“Go… to… hell,” Klaus enunciated clearly before spitting blood at her.

“Hmph.” Klara let the blood drip down her face for a moment before releasing him and wiping it off with her sleeve. “Very well, then. I guess it will be necessary for us to interrogate Crymaria after all.” She massaged her palm and shrugged. “Good thing Commissar Volker is still overseeing the Science Board. I’m sure he’d love to spend some personal time with your… beloved.”

The threat had the intended effect. A dejected look was scrawled across Klaus’s bloody face. He grit his teeth in frustration, shoulders trembling. He stared at the paper for a moment before shakily reaching up with his good arm and scrawling a messy signature on the parchment. He stared at his own signature for a moment. “There… just leave Crymaria out of this.”

“I am a woman of my word,” Klara said, picking up the folder and shutting it. “I can promise your dog will not be harmed… By us, at the very least.” She walked out without another word, leaving the badly injured man slumped in his chair.

  
  
-

  
  
Volker looked up with glittering eyes, having listened intently to the beating. He watched as Klara exited the cell and removed a handkerchief from her inside pocket to wipe the blood off her knuckles. “Astounding work as always. I presume our dear friend has confessed?” he asked her with a smile.

  
  
Klara examined her hands closely, satisfied that the traitor’s blood had been scrubbed off. “With one hour to spare. The guilty always break once caught in their crimes.”

  
  
“Thank you for taking the time to assist me, Klara. I will handle our guest from here,” Volker said smoothly, adjusting his suit so he looked a little more professional before entering the cell. Klara smirked and double checked the confession before heading back to the first floor to file it.

-

Klaus sat in the cold metal chair with his head hung, trying to focus on his breathing. A small pool of blood had formed underneath him, which was no surprise given his numerous injuries. He had heard of others who got swept up by the Crows, but he’d underestimated their reach when he left with Crymaria. He thought about it, the last time he saw her—that smile, a kind of expression that seemed new, unsure on her face. They agreed to surrender, and he promised her that he would rescue her again. She didn’t say anything; maybe she already knew. Still, her cold, delicate fingers grasped in his, her ruby eyes staring at him like she had to memorize every detail of that moment. The pain of knowing she may never wear that smile again was greater than his injuries. His head was swimming as he tried processing everything. If he would die very soon, as he assumed, then the last thing he wanted to remember was her.

He flinched as the sound of the door opening once more dragged him out of his thoughts. The motion sent a sharp jolt up from his broken arm, and he groaned at the pain. As a bird of prey might descend on his next meal, Volker approached the table with a spring in his step, wearing a plastic grin across his face.

He placed the notebook on the table and took a seat across from the man.“Good evening, Klaus. I trust you are well?”

  
  
“Another one?” Klaus mumbled, struggling to bring his head up enough to see who was speaking to him. Despite his blurry vision, he could see the white teeth of the ghoulish Commissar, the light causing the strange man’s face to twist into what appeared to be a grimace. Klaus felt his blood run cold.

Volker’s grin slowly faded, and he placed both his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. “Odd. I was certain I introduced myself.” He couldn’t help but savor the brutalized state of the man across from him for a moment. After a pause, he spoke in an upbeat tone. “My apologies, then. I am Commissar Volker, and I will be handling your unique case from this point onward. Lets try to get along.”

“My unique case?” Klaus repeated, understandably worried about what was in store for him. “If you are going to shoot me, just get it over with...”

Volker relaxed and leaned back in his chair as his unsettling smile returned. “Shoot you? Oh my, no. I would never dream of killing such a popular man.” Suddenly the torturer's voice changed, “Even though your gross incompetence put millions of innocent lives at risk… The people would riot if we held you to the same standards as the rest of our military.”

Changing his tune again, he put a hand on the book on the table. “Tell me, do you recognize this?”

Klaus glanced at the book, though it had no title. He shook his head, eliciting a sigh from Volker. “It was written by a friend of yours.” Still no answer. The commissar pressed the bridge of his nose. “Heinrich Belgar. I was under the impression you two were rather close.”

“We weren’t,” Klaus said, mustering what was left of his energy to set the record straight. “I barely spoke to that old man at all. He never once informed me of his plans.”

  
  
Volker’s face did little to convey how he was feeling. Returning to his flat, monotone cadence, he said, “A plea of ignorance? That would not be my first choice of a defense.” He offered a half-shrug and continued, “Especially considering you had plenty of time to report the suspicious conduct you most certainly witnessed.” He cocked his head to one side. “Silence is complicity, is it not?”

Klaus did not have a response. He let his head fall back down into a more comfortable position. Having made his point, Volker picked up the book, and with a dramatic flair opened it to the center. “It is such a shame we have to burn any books penned by Doctor Belgar. He was quite the visionary.”

He faked a quiver in his voice before looking up and asking, “Tell me, have you met Nikola and Chiara? Are they just not the most interesting pair? I would love to spend more… personal time with them. Their terror was so raw, tangible... but it was as though they could not express it without fully shutting down. Like it was just out of reach.”

Volker snickered and muttered darkly, “Well not entirely...” He calmly removed the black glove on his left hand to reveal that part of his index finger was missing. “We had to mildly sedate Chiara, else I am certain she might have bit off something far more important.” He slid the glove back on. “I must admit I find the urge to go down fighting an… admirable quality.”

Klaus brought his head up again, but shut his eye in a weak attempt to clear his vision. “I met them… Whatever that old man did really screwed them both up.”

“But it wasn’t like you were worried about them, right?” Volker asked with a faint knowing smile coming to his lips. “After all, are we not cut from the same monstrous cloth, Klaus?” He pointed to himself as it wasn’t clear. “Neither of us are men who feel empathy for those around us. All that matters is our own pleasure and pursuits.”

Klaus’s eye snapped to the Commissar’s face, and he spat blood onto the table. “I am nothing like you.”

Volker quickly snatched the book as if worried it would be stained. “No? I was certain… Well, no matter.” He shook his head in an uncomfortable motion and glanced down at the book. “Truth be told, I do not really understand Heinrich’s thought process.”

He shut the book and slid it into his inner coat pocket. “I murdered my first human when I was about Nikola and Chiara’s age.” He exhaled wistfully, remembering the pivotal moment in his life. “The action of killing had come to me so easily, I wondered why I hadn’t done it sooner.”

Volker could tell Klaus wasn’t really listening, but he was never one to cut a monologue short. “And I did so without a single adjustment or second of conditioning. No one had to tell me how to kill.” He started to crack his knuckles one by one. Each time it popped, the man across the table twitched. “Men like me are far more common than most wish to admit. So I find it bizarre the good doctor would have wasted resources on their project at all.” The torturer motioned to himself and said, “Belgar should have employed the honest side of mankind instead. I am sure more than a few of us would be glad to obediently kill for him.”

Volker started to laugh in a way that almost sounded as if he was choking. Wiping a tear from his eye, he continued his ghoulish monologue, “Really, though, it just makes me regret quitting medical school to follow my passion.” He slapped his forehead sarcastically, “Oh, if only I had known my uncivilized hobby could have earned me some rather generous research grants.”

Volker’s face changed and the merriment disappeared. “No… I think not. I never really could work well with others. I find it… distasteful.” He shrugged in another jerky motion. “Besides, Lord Commissar York is different from all the disgusting parasites that infest our Empire. His vision extends far into the future. And, if I can be honest with you, he’s such a forgiving boss that I cannot help but consider myself lucky to work for someone who understands excesses simply happen in this line of work.”

  
  
“Just get on with it,” Klaus mumbled softly, feeling downright exhausted with his tormentor’s rambling.

  
  
Volker nodded. “Right, right, my apologies. Back on track.” Calmly he came to his feet. “As you understand, it’s critical that the people continue to support our war effort. So we in the Commissariat do not wish to give them any reason to doubt us and our moral righteousness.”

Klaus watched anxiously as the head torturer slowly walked over to his side of the table. Without a hint of emotion, Volker stopped behind the injured man. “Do not worry, though. There is a way you can make good on your failures and still assist our Empire in such a dark hour.”

He gently placed both hands on Klaus’s shoulders and whispered into the condemned war hero’s ear, “Please, do not be afraid. Shall we begin… your first adjustment?”

-

The ceasefire signed following Operation Cygnus had only remained in effect for a single month before fighting resumed across Europe, as Imperial commandhad refused to withdraw their troops from their frontline positions deep within the Federation’s territory. However, that month allowed time for both warring powers to lick their wounds. In the case of the Commissariat, the time allowed them to have the Orcinus Magnus, X-0’s mobile base of operations, repaired and retrofitted. Once the repairs were finished,the submarine was awarded to Commissar Manfred for him and his men to use in their search for a valkyrian artifact.

Manfred himself was a particularly intriguing addition to the Commissariat. He had been disfigured during his time being reeducated by Volker, and the end result left him changed, mentally and physically. The torture had, at least at a base level, succeeded. Desperate for the months of pain and experimentation to end, Manfred had swore unwavering loyalty to Lord Commissar York. As the acting commanding officer aboard the Magnus, he found himself seated in the old office of the now-disgraced Doctor Belgar. Following the Commissar’s initial search of the gargantuan submarine, the room had been torn apart, and despite being cleaned up before the vessel set sail, it was still in a fairly shabby state.

The cabinets, which once housed alcoholic beverages—mostly bourbon, the doctor’s favorite—were still broken following the seizure, with many of the doors either falling off or missing. The small bookcase along the opposite wall was barren, as the books themselves had been confiscated to be burned. Montgomery, though, did personally intervene on behalf of several science fiction novels to add to his own library. All that had really survived the search was the conference room table and at least half of its chairs, along with Belgar’s disproportionately large wooden desk. Behind Manfred was the single alteration to the room he and his men had taken the time to implement. The blue, steel engraving of the X-0 owl had been covered by a flag depicting another variant of the Commissariat’s logo: A black crow, perched on the hilt of a sword overlayed by a kite shield.

Manfred had numerous stacks papers scattered about his new desk, which he carefully sifted through, his good eye slowly scanning them for any information he could possible use. Like all items of rarity, a vibrant criminal underground had sprung up to traffic valkyrian artifacts all across Europe. Despite the best efforts of both the Church and the Commissariat to clamp down on the smuggling, the willingness of collectors to pay top dollar for such mythological items ensured there were always men desperate enough to do the dangerous work.

Manfred had been a successful smuggler before being reeducated, and he had always been considered a reliable mule. It had been on the Lord Commissar’s orders that he be kidnapped in the first place. Montgomery himself was on the hunt for the pieces of a puzzle which he been trying to complete for several years. Deep within the Southern interior of the Empire, near the remote town of Teda, Imperial archaeologists unearthed a massive structure which, to their surprise, could not be opened by any known means. However, it was the translation of the old Northern Script on the wall outside of the ruin by Doctor Belgar that suggested the valkyur had taken great care to hide away something inside of immense importance. A key had been split into three pieces and hidden across the continent, and with such a discovery began a race to determine who would unlock the mystery first.

The Lord Commissar quickly suppressed all information related to the discovery and placed the ruin itself under guard by his men before ordering the pieces to be found. During the lead up to the second war, Crows under the supervision of Ulyana combed through the Empire and nearby countries searching for the pieces.Just as Imperial tanks crossed into Wessel, her men discovered one of the three partsbeing sold in a market within the non-aligned country of Arras. It was recovered without much persuasion, but the item’s location all but confirmed that smugglers had beaten the Commissariat to the punch.

Thus, it was logical to employ a man well versed in navigating the burgeoning black market. So, the newly christened Commissar Manfred had taken over duties from Ulyana, who was needed elsewhere. When the loss at Seigval brought about the third purge within the organization and all the violence that followed as the Commissariat tore itself apart in a cannibalistic, suicidal frenzy, Manfred, like all the rest, was left completely unable to act. It was not until the end of Operation Cygnus did he conclude with certainty that one of the pieces had never left the Empire and had, in fact, been under their noses the whole time; no doubt, it had been concealed by Belgar out of spite towardsYork.

Unfortunately, the chaos following the near-total obliteration of the Imperial Capital had prevented him from rescuing the second part until the Northern region had all but broken loose. With foreign troops taking advantage of the civil war, Manfred was ordered to devote all his resources to securing the final piece of the key instead, while Kriegstotcher brought the region back under control.

Now utilizing the Orcinus Magnus, he set out to locate an old accomplice, a smuggler by the name of Nimble. Manfred remembered he had been paid generously for the transportation of a rare artifact. A few nights prior, the Commissar’s men had hustled Nimble into black car in the city of Castleton.

However, like most prolific members of the criminal underground on the continent, silence was golden. Despite being tortured, Nimble stubbornly refused to sell out his patron—at least, until Manfred suggested taking advantage of the tools left behind in Belgar’s old laboratory. Within the submarine remained the sins of its original owner, hidden behind a large steel door connected to the office. By sheer luck, the lab had been untouched by the fighting during the battle outside of Schwartzgrad. Upon Manfred’s first discovery of the laboratory, the imagery of the room and its instruments of torture left him vividly remembering his time under Volker’s care, and he vomited afterwards. He refused to enter the room ever since, instead delegating interrogations to his subordinates’ discresion.

The sound of metal scraping caused Manfred to look from the papers to see one of his agents, who was wearing the distinctive black armor of the Commissariat’s soldiers. “Is he ready to talk?” he asked, voice hoarse. Even such a short sentence caused his perpetually sore throat to return before he started to cough into a rag.

The agent saluted instinctively and nodded, ignoring his commander’s clearly pained state. “Yes, sir. The drugs are wearing off now, but I believe he is lucid enough to speak.”

The coughing continued until for a minute until Manfred got it under control, and finally waved his hand. “Good. Bring him here.”

A few minutes later, Nimble was dragged out and sat down in one of the conference room chairs across from Manfred, who couldn’t help but look away. His former colleague was in bad shape, with severe bruising around his eyes and a noticeable tremor, which was an obvious side-effect of the drugs. The man’s sandy blonde hair had patches that were singed black. Nimble slumped down in the chair as though his body felt like lead. He peered groggily at the other man for a moment in confusion, as if his brain was just catching up, though eventually his eyes widened in realization. Manfred simply watched him, knowing how unrecognizable he looked now, even to himself. Nimble finally weakly said, “Look at me, Otmar. I want you...” He took a short breath, body shivering as he exhaled. “To tell me what they offered you...”

The demand was a fair one—after all, the two men had been more than acquainted in his old life. Yet Manfred could only stare at the floor as he mumbled in response, “I am… sorry. It’s not that simple.” He exhaled loudly and winced, as his improperly healed ribs made breathing painful. He reached over, picking up the last bottle of bourbon resting on the desk. Looking back up at Nimble, he said, “It is Commissar Manfred now. Please respect my new station.” He took a swig of the drink and pushed the bottle toward the smuggler.

Nimble’s expression softened a little, as he could see the emptiness in the Commissar’s eye. “Fuck… Those bastards.” He sat up and leaned over, taking the bottle from him. “If you got me, does that mean only Mouse is left?”

Manfred glanced around the office to make sure they were alone; due to his situation, he was well aware that York was using the subordinates to monitor him. Luckily, his agent had returned to the lab to clean it up. Quietly, he leaned forward and said, “No one knows he exists… and I aim to keep it that way.”

“Always were an honorable thief,” Nimble said, appreciating that even with a new identity, his old friend was still there. He tooka long, drawn out swig from the bottle. He swallowed and tapped the glass his hand. “That is good, at least. He is too gentle of a lad to get mixed up in this mess.”

“Then let us leave it at that,” Manfred said, picking up a document and squinting to make sure it was the right one before turning it around. There was a crude hand-drawn picture depicting a crescent-like shape. “Do you recognize this item? My memory is hazy, but I am certain I remember you moving it.”

“Hmm.” Nimble leaned forward in the chair, keen to not spend anymore time getting shocked by the agents. A weak smile came to his thin lips. “I do… but perhaps you would be interested in a proposal before we go any further.”

  
  
Manfred’s good eye narrowed. “You are not in much of a position to propose anything at the moment.”

Nimble held up a hand, taking another long drink from the bottle. “I am good as dead, no? Even if you are merciful and drop me at the next port, our associates will kill me eventually.” Manfred moved his head to one side, fully aware of the cutthroat nature of the work. “So, how does this sound… You need allies you can trust, no? And I have always appreciated how Crows at least have enough sense to not march around looking like ridiculous tin men.”

  
  
“You want me to recruit you?” Manfred interjected, completing the offer. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “That is… within my authority. But Nimble, throwing your lot in with the Commissariat only ends one way. Are you sure?”

  
  
“Why not? Not dying at this moment is my only goal,” Nimble explained; he was well aware of his precarious situation. His eyes met Manfred’s empty stare. “I will let future me worry about dying at a later date. We were friends once, no? Besides, who is to say this venture won’t be a lucrative one?”

Manfred was so shocked by the comradely gesture he was at a loss for words. He tapped a finger against the wooden table nervously, staring intently at the man’s face, before finally nodding. “Do you really trust me to not have you shot after I get what I need?”

  
  
“Ah, come on, Ot–er, Manfred. You never had the stomach for killing,” Nimble said, putting the bottle down on the table. “That is why you burned your draft card in the first place, right? No reason to die for those Federate dogs in a war you do not believe in.” He chuckled bleakly. “I have made plenty of deals with the devil before. What is one more? So shoot me if you must. It is you who will have to live with that choice.”

Manfred stayed silent, brow furrowed. His answer was obvious though, and with an unnatural smile, he nodded. “I do have need of men that I can trust.” He held up the paper again. “So tell me, where is it?”

  
  
“Our _é_ m. Some old collector lives on the island, paid generously for it,” Nimble answered quickly. “I doubt the old geezer is still alive, but that is where I last saw it. Weird artifact, honestly. Never seen anything like it since.”

  
  
Manfred scribbled a note on the piece of paper. “How so?”

  
  
“Because I am certain I saw it move on its own once,” Nimble said, trying to conceal how much the strange relic had unnerved him. “But I might have had too much to drink. Still, whenever I took it out of its container, I always felt uneasy.”

  
  
Manfred didn’t know what to think at the admission. Usually smuggling was never very eventful, so for Nimble to comment on the oddity of the piece at all meant something. Still, it wasn’t like the mangled man had a choice in his new mission. He finally said after a moment of silence, “Unfortunate for us, then, Commissar…” He trailed off, trying to come up with a name for his new partner. He looked around the small office for a moment. “Owl. Yeah, that will work.”

  
  
“Owl?” Nimble looked amused by the new identity and wondered if he would need to alter his own appearance for the new role. “I can live with that, Commissar Manfred.”

The two men shook hands on their new agreement and set off to give the new Commissar Owl a uniform more appropriate for his station. The other agents seemed uncomfortable by the addition of a new Commissar. Ultimately, it was all they could do to defer to Manfred’s shaky authority, as it was within his right to recruit a new man, especially one that could help them complete the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always seemed odd that Klaus, who oversaw one of the greatest Imperial military failures of the whole war, gets a happy ending anyways. It hardly felt appropriate given how the Empire is presented by the game. If you know anything about the history of WW2, many commanders on the Eastern front ended up executed for failure on both sides.  
> Also, unfortuntely this is Manfred's one apperance in the story for a long time. The cast is so big, I didn't want to cut back to a character who's so far away from the central conflict of the story. There may or may not be plans to do a side story detailing his adventures.  
> Anyways, that's it for part 2. Omake and new character art is coming up soon. Part 3 is huge so it might get split into two parts, we haven't decided yet. There'll be new enemies, new alliances, and our final enemy will be introduced. Hope you guys enjoy. (Also, we have recieved a few questions for the FAQ, so keep sending them in! Comment moderation is on for this part, so if you want to send in questions, you can comment without having it be posted. Other comments will be posted as normal.)


	8. Omake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading part 2! If you're interested, the beginning of chapter 1 has been revised, so check that out while you're here. Part 3 will air (can we call it airing? posted?) in about a month. Once all the pieces are set, the plot can start to move along. The FAQ will also be coming sometime soon, but we don't have a date set for that quite yet.  
> All art done by @splatsune on tumblr.  
> See you guys soon!

**Catherine von Gothia**

Age: 38  
  
Title: Grand Empress of the East European Imperial Alliance

The third wife of the current Emperor. Catherine is the last descendant of an ancient noble line which was on the decline around the time the East European Imperial Alliance was founded. A shrewd woman and capable statesman, she manages the internal affairs of the vast Empire, allowing her husband to pursue his fanciful delusions about the valkyur bloodline. Despite being Montgomery’s patron, she does not trust him and is well aware of his disdain for the nobility. In an attempt to hinder his schemes, she frequently invites him to noble and government ceremonies, while also keeping a close tabs on the Commissariat’s official dealings.

**Montgomery York**

Age: 67

Title: Lord Commissar

The enigmatic Lord Commissar of Schwartzgrad, who regularly recruits individuals that have survived against all odds. His attitude toward the Empire reflect his choice in subordinates; he is a man who reveres the Empire as the ideal state, but harbors no loyalty to the nobility credited with building it. He had kept the names of nobles that were involved in a plot to undermine the invasion of Gallia. Yet, it wasn't until after the failure of Siegval that he became convinced of a grander conspiracy to sabotage the Imperial war effort. In response, he conducted a purge of the Commissariat’s ranks with righteous zeal. The purge left the entire organization paralyzed until the very end of Operation Cygnus. What remained was an organization without a Commissar above the age of 35 outside of his inner circle; the survivors have formed a cult of personality surrounding him, elevating him to a status perhaps higher than the Emperor.

**Karl Ludwig**

Age: 46

Title: Commissar

York’s right hand; a soft-spoken man who always seems tired, but underneath the surface is a fiercely devoted servant of the Lord Commissar, and shares nearly all of the same radical views. Unlike the Lord Commissar, though, Karl’s approach to command is a much more paternal approach. He tends to view his troops as his children, and as a result, he is willing to take responsibility for their failures. He has been awarded the medal of the Crow taking Flight, symbolizing going above and beyond the call of duty. His macabre hobby of photographing dead men has raised more than a few eyebrows from his comrades.

**Volker**

Age: 51

Title: Commissar, Prison Camp Administrator  
  
A reformed serial killer and one of the first men recruited into Montgomery’s inner circle, Volker is primarily tasked with the extraction of confessions from condemned individuals. Viewed by others in the Commissariat as a primitive man, he displays an almost inhuman stamina and frequently works through the night without sleep. At the same time, he is the primary overseer of the Empire’s vast prison camp system and is the man responsible for handling the Darcsen problem.

**Klara Hedvig**

Age: 42  
  
Title: Commissar

Klara is a notoriously efficient woman whose primary job within the Commissariat is the counter-terrorism operations both within the Empire and recently occupied territories. She has a detached demeanor toward her job, seeing violence as a necessary means to get the job done. She prefers a blunt approach to handling perceived threats, which has earned her the nickname, “The Hammer.”

**Ulyana Von Wolzogen**

Age: 34

Title: Commissar

The newest member of Montgomery’s inner circle, she seeks a higher purpose outside of the stagnant nobility and a life of political marriages. She views Montgomery as a mentor figure, and actively tries to live up to his expectations. She is seen as a reliable member of the Commissariat, which often results in her duties changing based on what situation is the most pressing.

**Manfred Rahul**

Age: 30  
  
Title: Commissar

Formerly a smuggler named Otmar, Manfred was brutally reeducated and now dutifully serves the Commissariat. His body is horribly scarred and he has been blinded in one eye, making it difficult to fulfill his new purpose. He is assigned to the arduous task of tracking down the pieces of a mysterious valkyrian artifact.

**Owl**  
  
Age: 26  
  
Title: Commissar

Recruited by Manfred, Owl was once a fellow smuggler who transported a piece of a valkyrian artifact to a collector outside of the Empire.

**Seiko Kimura**

Age: 29

Title: Doctor

Far-Eastern doctor who once worked for the Imperial Science Board, but now spends most of her time helping the lower classes of Schwartzgrad while occasionally fulfilling requests from York. After being approached to handle Nikola and Chiara’s unique case, she was convinced to serve as Kriegstotcher’s physician and tends to the wounded with a surprising gentleness despite her odd mannerisms.

**Nikola Graf**  
  
Age: 15  
  
Title: ~~X-0 Second Lieutenant~~ [Expunged]

Nikola was adopted by Doctor Belgar at a young age in order to fulfill the requirements of a research grant commissioned by the Emperor. Subjected to numerous brutal “adjustments,” her concept of self has been completely destroyed. She doesn’t consider herself much more than an experimental weapon, and is often worried about performing her duties lest she be retired. The stress of her situation contributed to her emotional instability.

During the battle of Schwartzgrad, being on the verge of death, she was dragged to safety by Chiara who, despite their shared animosity, refused to abandoned her. She was spared execution by Lord Commissar York, who placed her and Chiara in charge of a newly formed Commissariat unit, which they named Kriegstotcher. Her freedom from X-0 has allowed her mind to recover marginally and provided her some merciful clarity about aspects of her life. Primarily, she’s learned that she genuinely cares about Chiara’s well-being and wants to make up for her abusive treatment of her only true friend.

**Chiara Rocino**  
  
Age: 14  
  
Title: ~~X-0~~ ~~Second Lieutenant~~ [Expunged]

Chiara was adopted by Doctor Belgar at a young age in order to fulfill the requirements of a research grant commissioned by the Emperor. Subjected to numerous brutal “adjustments,” her concept of self was only partially destroyed. Seemingly more aware of what was happening to her, she clung onto what little humanity she had left, desperate to avoid ending up as cold and unfeeling as Nikola. Viewed as defective by Doctor Belgar, she has a deeply ingrained fear of being abandoned for failing her duties, and as a result, she behaves rather impulsively.

It was this behavioral flaw that motivated her to reject Forseti’s order to destroy herself to stop the Federation’s lead tank during the battle of Schwartzgrad. Realizing she had already been abandoned by Doctor Belgar, she opted instead to flee. While hiding she remembered Nikola’s broken demeanor, and despite their shared animosity, made another impulsive decision to save her friend. She was spared execution by Lord Commissar York, who placed her and Nikola in charge of a newly formed Commissariat unit, which they named Kriegstotcher. Her freedom from X-0 allowed her to recover from her “adjustments” faster than Nikola. She even managed to form a tenuous bond with Gunther due to his non-threatening and infectiously friendly nature. Above all, she wishes to mend the strained relationship between her and Nikola, returning it to the state it was when they were growing up together before their “adjustments” drove them apart.

**Hans Gottfried**

Age: 38

Class: Armored Tech

A veteran soldier who had enlisted in the Imperial Army before the start of the Second European War. Gottfried was part of the initial spear that pushed through Wesel and Assen. He watched as the Empire’s veteran corps slowly ground themselves down, only to be replaced with young demoralized conscripts who were slaughtered en masse for little territorial gains. A traditionalist at heart, he is considered father by many soldiers of Kriegstotcher, and he finds himself better able to cope with what he’s experienced knowing the men of his unit rely on him.

**Fedor Servaas**  
  
Age: 42  
  
Class: Chaplain

Raised in a monastery, Fedor was content to spend his life as a simple monk in the Yggdist church. One day while praying, he had a vision of an ancient valkyur which commanded him to take up his sword in the name of the Empire. As a chaplain in the army, he was primarily concerned with caring for dying men and ensuring they left the world at peace. The battle of Montigny changed him greatly as he watched nearly his whole squad die securing an apartment block. He now often suicidally throws himself into combat with little regard for his own well being, as if actively seeking oblivion.

**Sorina**

Age: ??

Class: Sniper

Labeled a witch by the more superstitious members of Kriegstotcher, Sorina is an albino woman who speaks cryptically, as though she knows more about things than she lets on. Regardless of her strange demeanor, she is a first-rate sniper. Despite the grievous burns covering a majority of her body, she never complains. It is unknown when or under what circumstances she joined the Commissariat.

**Siegward von Wolfram**

Age: 19

Class: Fencer

An arrogant nobleman who seems out of place in Kriegstotcher. His well-maintained black hair and regal features make him stand out among common soldiers. His bad attitude makes him difficult to work with, as he rarely minxes words and is not afraid to berate his commanding officers. Despite his negative qualities, he has a strategic mind, and understands the morale of a unit is crucial to its success. Those with a deeper knowledge of the noble houses of the Empire would be quick to point out that the name “Wolfram” cannot be found in any records.

**Gunther Trofim**

Age: 20

Class: Assault Pioneer

An infectiously optimistic Engineer who hails from the Nord Republic, he is a compulsive gambler whose notorious good luck has gotten him into quite a bit of trouble. His non-threatening disposition has earned him the harassment of Nikola and Chiara while he works, as both girls seem unsure what to make of his positive attitude. Regardless, he is completely unbothered by the childish teasing. In combat he serves as their personal engineer, ensuring they never run out of bolts on the field. However, sometimes his sunny disposition falls away, revealing that he still carries with him trauma from the battle of Seigval.

**Casper Ulf**  
  
Age: 52  
  
Title: Captain

The last descendant of a legendary caste of Northern warriors, Ulf is something of a folk hero in the Nord Republic and a fearsome foe on the battlefield. Before the civil war, he was part of a squad of marines who participated in many battles under the Empire’s banner. Mired in the old ways of his people, he carries an axe named _Björn,_ which is his most prized possession.

**Otto Halvard**  
  
Age: 50  
  
Title: Major General

While Ulf leads the men in battle, Otto focuses on the logistics of warfare and ensures the loyalist forces remain well supplied. Even before the civil war, he served as Major General in the Imperial Army until he was suddenly relieved of command and transferred to garrison duty in Lowerholm. It was he who brokered a deal with the Commissariat for material aid for an unknown price.

**Theodore Irving**

Age: 34  
  
Title: Specialist

A member of the Vinnish Secret Service, Irving is considered an unreliable soldier, as his idealism makes him difficult to control. He loathes despotism in all its forms, and firmly believes that tyranny wherever it manifests must be crushed without mercy. His commitment to his ideals has lead him to clash with higher military officials.

**Edward McDonnell**  
  
Age: 72  
  
Title: Professor of the Institute of Ragnite Studies

A brilliant Gallian scientist, Edward was recruited by the United States to continue his research into creating an obedient soldier with abilities beyond the common man. However, his passion lies elsewhere; he is far more invested in the possibility of utilizing the power of ragnite implosion to propel a rocket into the atmosphere. The United States’ military is currently looking into the practical application of such technology.

-Bonus comic-


End file.
